Light in Darkness
by BadWolf85
Summary: (Post Season 3) Life continues outside Hawkins. Eleven blamed herself for the death of Hopper. In the meantime, He tries to survive... somewhere. This is the story of how El rescue Hop and their returning to Hawkins. (I'm terrible at summaries, but this fanfic has adventure, drama, demodogs and, eventually... a Jopper story xD )
1. Day 76

**Welcome to this fanfiction. I hope you like it.**

**First of all, I want to especially thank StrangerThanXsAnatomy, my beta reader, for making this story possible, thank you very much ;)**

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**Chapter 1: "Day 76"**

**Goshen, Indiana**

**September, 1985**

The alarm rang too soon, and the lights of her room rose. Eleven squinted, grunted, and rolled over pulling the pillow over her ears. It was the seventy-sixth day. She sat on the edge of the bed, thinking about how much her life had changed, and how much she'd lost. Three weeks had passed since they moved, and she was still getting used to the new room. Its walls filled with drawings, white furniture, and a bookshelf. Plenty of comics on its shelves.

Those books were a gift from her friends, a weird one you could say since she didn't like comics. Great heroes with incredibly good lives and superpowers. Come on, that only happens in stories. The real world was very different. There was no happy ending. Not for her. Everything that ever mattered to her had disappeared from her life. She missed Hawkins, her old cabin, her friends, Mike and…

Her eyes were wet with tears as she moved over the nightstand. She opened the drawer and pulled out a small wooden box. Her fingers ran over the lid but didn't open it.

"Honey, breakfast is ready," Joyce said from the door. "If you don't hurry, the boys will eat your plate too. Today I made pancakes."

The woman bit her lower lip, her eyes fixed on the wooden box in her hands. She knew what was inside it.

"Hey, Come on…" Joyce entered the room. "Is everything all right?" Her voice softened as she squatted in front of the girl.

Eleven shook her head as her fingers gripped the box. "It's the day seventy-six." She stated as if it was an explanation.

It was. Putting emotions into words wasn't her strong point unless it was anger. Even then, she was more at ease with actions.

It wasn't her fault. Having spent the first twelve years of your life captive doesn't give you the best of education.

But, she made herself understand. After all, she had improved in recent years thanks to the time she spent with…

Joyce felt a twinge of pain in her chest. The memory of Hopper was still fresh, like an open wound. "Yeah, I know. I miss him too." She replied with a sad smile. "You know what? He would have liked you to go to school."

Eleven shook her head. "They are bad. They say ugly things about me."

The woman looked at her, surprised. How had she not noticed before? A new girl, without much knowledge, and with poor language skills was a bad combination; at least in school. It was clear that she had become the center of teasing. Children can be very cruel sometimes.

It had been hard to find a school for her in such a short time. Joyce had to convince the director with a story, so her shortcomings did not raise suspicions. Fortunately, Dr. Owens had used his contacts to help her. She didn't understand why, and she preferred not to know, but that man felt indebted to her family.

"Ignore them. They will soon get bored and leave you alone. Do the best you can while being yourself, and learn from any mistake you make. Don't let anyone tell you what to do."

"Myself." The girl repeated.

"Exactly," Joyce said getting up. "Now, go to the kitchen and devour your pancakes if Will and Jonathan have left you any."

Eleven got out of bed. She didn't want to disturb Joyce more than necessary. She had enough with the new home and work, not to mention having another mouth to feed and worry about. But every day she spent in school was worse than the last one. They had asked for discretion from the school board, but rumors about them had spread like wildfire. It is a school that was not huge, and any gossip was the topic of the day.

* * *

Eleven closed her locker with reluctance when a push from behind made her books fall to the floor.

"God, the geek doesn't even know how to walk." A girl stated while two others laughed in unison. It was Jodie, the most popular girl in school, and according to Eleven, also the most stupid. She ignored her -just as Joyce had recommended- and began to pick up her books without saying a word.

"Well... well, has the cat got your tongue?" Meows that caused more laughter accompanied Jodie's sarcastic voice. The noise got them some looks from the rest of the students who were passing through the hall.

The girl tried to pick up the last book, but Jodie stepped on it. "Hey, geek, I asked you a question, are you going to answer?"

Eleven looked up. The lack of her powers meant that she could only imagine throwing Jodie, and her ego, into the air. But there she was, stepping on her math book.

"Remove your foot." She advised.

"Oh! It seems that the kitten has got claws."

"I'm not a cat." Eleven responded, trying to get the book, which made Jodie step on it harder.

"No, you are not. You are an orphan geek who can't even speak."

A boy made his way through the gossips that were still watching the scene. "Leave her alone, Jodie."

Eleven breathed relieved to see Will, while Jodie just rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Well ... the other geek. Do you have a club or something?"

Will came closer with anger. "I said leave her alone."

Eleven seized the distraction and yanked the book. That caught Jodie off guard, who had to hold onto a locker to keep her balance.

"Killjoy. We're leaving, but just because we got bored. Idiots." Jodie and her friends turned on their heels and walked away, laughing.

Will offered his hand to Eleven to help her up. "Are you ok?"

Eleven nodded, swallowing hard, trying to undo the lump in her throat; She didn't want the boys in the hall to see her cry. It wasn't because Jodie scared her, far from it. She just felt helpless, and that was the straw that filled the glass.

"El, don't let someone so insignificant affect you. They also made fun of me in Hawkins because I got better grades than them. And you know what?" Will was smiling. "At the end of the course, my mother bought me a new bike. Worth being the nerd of the class."

"Nerd?"

"I will tell you what it means on the way home. Okay? Also, today is Friday. It's the day we rent a movie from the video store! It was my turn to choose it but ... we will take whatever you want. Even if it's a cartoon" Will tried to make her smile. After all, Eleven had become a little sister for him. The duty of the older brothers was to protect and care for the little ones, at least that was what he thought. Eleven didn't need anyone to protect her, but she needed someone at her side.

* * *

They had ordered pizzas for the movie; Friday was the best day of the week for everyone, except for El. The reason was simple; the TV broadcast 'Miami Vice'.

It had been exactly seventy-six days that she had not watched that series again. Not without Hopper. It was the series they always watched together. There were no excuses for being late, no matter if it rained, thundered or there was a hurricane warning. It was their time of the week and was simply special. Especially in the last months that she had spent less time in the cabin. On Friday nights there were no plans. Just watch an episode together, sitting on the old couch with a nice bowl of popcorn.

The Byers were trying to make Fridays easier for her. It was the day they ordered fast food and rented a good movie. They were trying to make her feel like one of their family, but it was still day seventy-six.

When the Goonies movie ended, Eleven got up from the couch. Like every Friday the silence was her farewell, only broken when the door of her room slammed.

Her body fell on the bed. "Not a good day." She muttered under her breath as her fingers retrieve the wooden box.

She took a note from inside and delicately unfolded it. She did not want that little piece of paper to break or deteriorate. For her it meant a lot, you can say, that it was her most precious possession.

She had read it a million times, she didn't even need the paper, and she knew it by heart. But those quick strokes printed with pen on a threadbare torn notebook sheet were all she had of him, of Hopper. The only person who helped her when she needed it most, without expecting anything in return. The stranger she ended up calling father.

_"...It's just not how life works. It's moving, always moving, whether you like it or not. And yeah, sometimes it's painful. Sometimes it's sad. And sometimes, it's surprising. Happy._

_So you know what? Keep on growing up kid. Don't let me stop you. Make mistakes, learn from 'em. When life hurts you, because it will, remember the hurt. The hurt is good. It means you're out of that cave!..."_

"Now I'm in that cave, " Her voice was almost a murmur. "And I don't know… I don't know how to get out." Tears wet her cheeks. "You said life would hurt me, but not that it would take everything away from me. That day I lost you, also my powers, my home, and my hope. I have nothing, Hop."

The girl curled up on the bed, pressing the crumpled paper against her chest. "Everyone tells me that the pain will pass with time, but it's a lie. Seventy-six days have passed and it still hurts like the first ... because I know ... that tomorrow you will remain dead." She spoke the words, stopping every so often to choke back sobs.

Her eyes closed. "I couldn't even look for you that day. Not without my powers. It's better that way. To remember you as you were."

To imagine seeing him dead, was enough to start sobbing without comfort. And when there were no more tears left to cry, end up falling asleep. She would wake up in a new day, the seventy-seven.

* * *

**Three weeks earlier. Unknown place.**

There was barely an hour left to finish his shift. Damn his luck when he heard the alarms sound. The chief scientist, Smirnov, approached the radar with fear. There was activity on the other side of the portal, which could only mean problems.

The sound of the door opening meant another problem. The general was there, followed by a platoon of soldiers. "You. Inform." He said pointing a finger at the scientist without even looking at him. His gaze fixed on the portal below them.

"We... we don't know, there is activity on the other side of the portal," He hesitated before continuing. "We should turn off the machine. It could be anything." The scientist craved. He remembered so well when a pack of Demogorgons appeared through the crack. Those beasts devoured all the comrades who worked that night with no mercy.

That attracted the colonel's attention. "Here, who decides if the machine shuts down or not is me." He didn't even have to raise his voice to freeze Smirnov's blood "The portal will remain open!"

"It's getting closer!" Another nervous scientist notified, pointing at one of the radars. Everyone looked at the orange glow on the wall.

The colonel pointed at the portal. "Soldiers in front! Only shoot at my command!"

The men, armed with Kalashnikov rifles, stood in front of the portal, afraid of what they might find. The crack glowed, and in a few seconds, a figure appeared in front of them, walking towards them.

The soldiers looked at each other as they adjusted their fingers on their weapons. Fear was in the air. That figure was bigger than a Demogorgon.

"Aim!" The colonel shouted.

The fissure became bigger, and the figure began to take shape until a mysterious man appeared. He seemed disoriented and after what seemed to be his last effort, his body collapsed on the floor. None of the soldiers moved from their site. They weren't expecting that.

"What the hell..." Ivanov's astonishment was evident. He gestured to Smirnov, who cautiously approached the man lying on the floor. He didn't trust anything that came from the other side.

Trembling, his fingers searched for a pulse in the man's neck. All eyes were on him.

"He… he is alive but very weak." He stated.

The colonel looked astonished toward the portal. That was going to be a very long night.

**To be continued…**

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**Thank you for reading it! Please, if you liked it, just let me know with a review. :)**


	2. Nightmares

**Here we go with another chapter. I hope you like it. I also want to thank my beta reader StrangerThanXsAnatomy for making this story possible. :) You can leave a review if you wish. They make me happy :D**

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***Note*** This chapter occurs a month earlier than the previous one.

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**CHAPTER 2: NIGHTMARES**

**The upside-down. **

**August, 1985. **

His feet wandered through the darkness. He had long stopped worrying about where he was going. Nowhere.

In such a place, he could only choose between a terrible path or a worse one. After spending so much time there, his needs had become very elementary. Get water and provisions, and try to avoid becoming the food of, what did the boys call them? Demo What? It didn't matter. Damn hellhounds.

Without a doubt, not having sunlight was driving him crazy. He never thought he'd miss something as simple as feeling that warmness on his face. Any light would have suited him. A spark to get him out of the gloomy endless darkness that overwhelmed everything.

It had been weeks, or months, it was hard to tell. The man can only measure time by his need for sleep. And even that wasn't reliable. Having several hours of sleep in a row was a luxury that he could not afford.

If it weren't because he had been there before, he would have thought he was already dead, and that was the damn hell. On second thought, he would have almost preferred to go to hell. It was always represented as a place on fire, and here everything was cold. Fuck, he couldn't even light a fire to warm himself, he learned that the very first day he arrived.

Since the heat was a weapon against those creatures, he thought it was a great idea to light a fire to defend himself. But, in such a dark place, holding a torch was like putting a fluorescent signal on your head: 'Hey! Fresh meat in sight!' He almost died that day. No, he would not start a fire again unless it was necessary.

There were so many things he wouldn't do again. He missed the little everyday things; a good hot shower, he would sell his soul to the devil for that. Making fun of Powell and his lousy luck playing cards. Share a cigarette with Joyce... Oh God, Joyce. Now it was he who did not attend their date. "We're doomed…" He thought.

What tormented him most was thinking about El. He would never enjoy seeing her smile while eating Eggos.

Now he understood why the girl enjoyed those little moments so much. She never had them in that miserable laboratory, so they meant a lot to her. It was his turn to miss the little things, but it was useless to complain. Especially when you don't know how much time you have left. For a moment, his eyes closed, thinking if it was worth it.

Owens told him that this place was radioactive or something, but it didn't matter. He knew that place would kill him before any radiation. The time he had been there, he had seen everything, none of it good; creepers trying to catch him, the damn demogorgons looking for fresh meat and then there was... the other thing.

At that time, he had learned how to deal with them. It wasn't easy, but those creatures have a weak point under their necks, but even knowing that, he could only face two of them at most.

From three, the only way out was to run like a bat out of hell. Praying to find the right place to hide. Thank god, they didn't have a good nose to look for their prey.

That if you had a good day. Then there was something worse. He had only seen it twice, but that, whatever it was, froze his blood. A monster with no face, no shape, only smoke, and shadows. He discovered it the first day he thought he was going to die. Oh, man... that day.

Four damn hounds cornered him, and his gun only had three bullets. Certain death. The brutish beasts circled him, savoring the moment, knowing he could not escape.

"Fuck, what are you waiting for? Come on! End this now!" He cried with all his might. That startled even him. It had been so long alone that he didn't also remember the sound of his voice. The dogs stood still for a moment, scared. "Here is the chief!" He shouted, believing his voice frightened them. To his disbelief, the animals turned around and run away until they disappeared from view, which made him smile. If he had known that shouting at them was enough, everything would have been more accessible.

Suddenly, He noticed an icy breeze on the back of his neck. It was weird, there was no wind down there. A shiver ran down his spine as he turned, and what he found left him breathless.

"Holy shit."

A tangle of shadows shaking, almost forming a body, was in front of him. His survival instinct made him aim his gun and shoot twice. The bullets went through that figure as if it were a ghost without effect. Idiot. You can't kill a shadow. That entity began to walk towards him. As it approached, he would have sworn he heard whispers.

His feet remembered how to walk and walked backward. That thing was moving faster, and he didn't think twice; he ran without even looking where. Whatever it was, he wasn't going to stay to find out.

The adrenaline flowed through his veins, making him faster. Even then, that wasn't enough to dodge a blow from the back knocking him to the ground. A tentacle of shadows grabbed his ankle. "You bastard!" He tried to hold on to the ground, but it was in vain, that thing dragged him back several meters.

He spun around to face that creature, tried to get up, but the shadow pounced on him without mercy. A weight felt on his chest that prevented him from moving. He wanted to hit it, but his fists slipped and pierced it like smoke. "This isn't fair play." He did not know how to fight against a shadow, and yet that monster had subdued him. Why didn't he kill him at once? What was he doing?

His gaze fixed on a shadowy tentacle that was forming with a stinger on its end. He had only seen it once, when they rescued that boy, Will.

"No, no, NO! YOU SON OF A *****!" He gasped, horrified.

The images of that moment came back to his mind as distant memories. He saw himself removing that tentacle from the boy's body and trying to revive him again and again. Even the screams of Joyce filled his mind.

That vision was enough to know what the future held for him, a cold sweat fell down his face. The shadows were enveloping him as they finished forming the stinger.

"Shit!" He cried while trying to free himself.

"It's useless." A voice echoed in his mind.

"What the hell?!" He screamed as an excruciating pain ran up his head.

"Don't resist the inevitable, James Hopper. You and your whole world belong to me."

"GET OF MY HEAD!"

He had worked as an inspector in New York, witnessing unspeakable crimes there. He had faced a doctor telling him that his daughter had terminal cancer. Even Vietnam was still fresh in his mind. And yet, he could assure that this moment was the most frightening of all his life. The mere thought of being trapped, used by that thing, and buried in life indefinitely... It was so much for him. Fear mixed with the anxiety of not knowing how to escape.

His eyes saw that the sting was almost finished. He blinked, thinking about how to use the last bullet his pistol had. Who did he want to fool? It had only one proper use.

"You are wrong." His tone was challenging, of those who know they have nothing to lose. It was obvious what to do. He placed the barrel of the gun on his temple and closed his eyes. "I am not yours."

Before pulling the trigger, he thought about El. The moments they had spent together. That icy night when she followed him in the forest, their nights watching tv on the couch, even their discussions... But also the incredible experiences they had shared. That terrifying day when they closed the portal. Oh god, that thing that came out of the crack ready to gobble them up, and how she, levitating, faced that monster without thinking...

The pressure on his chest began to loosen.

"I'm sorry, kid." His fingers adjusted on the trigger as his eyes were on the verge of tears. "I'm so sorry."

He imagined her facing that beast and defeating it. That comforted him at that very last moment. God, if he could only see her one last time, there were so many things to say...

A breeze brought him out of his thoughts, so fast, that he seemed to hear a horrible scream, like a howl, and then nothing. Silence flooded everything. His eyes flashed open, confused... the shadow was gone.

* * *

"NO!" Her heart was beating so fast that she thought it was going to get out of her chest. The scream woke up all of the Byers.

Immediately, an alarmed Joyce appeared through her bedroom door, followed by Will and Jonathan, a little sleepy. It was barely midnight.

Eleven looked around, she seemed disoriented, as if she didn't know exactly where he was.

"Honey, honey. That's it, it's over now." The woman approached the girl and wrapped her in her arms. "It has only been a nightmare."

"No ..." El retorted while taking refuge in that hug. "This has been different."

The girl had had nightmares since everything happened. She had woken up several nights soaked with sweat and screaming heartbreaking. Sometimes, her dreams tormented her with the mall monster. Other times, his mind was cruel enough to recreate the death of Hopper.

"Shh ... It's ok." Joyce murmured, trying to reassure the teenager. "Tell me about it, tell me what you have dreamed." The truth was she didn't want to know any details of the story. Every time El told her any of her dreams, she couldn't help going back to that moment. The worst moment in her life. Her life changed in just a second. The time it takes to turn a key. In a moment, you are alive, and a second later not. Everything you are disappears in a flash. "Everything is ok. I'm here, honey." She sighed, more to comfort herself than the girl. It had been hard months for both of them.

Eleven separated from Joyce and tried to think about what she had lived. She didn't know how to express it.

"It was different."

"Ok." Joyce comforted her with a gentle squeeze on her shoulder.

Eleven bit her lower lip trying to sort her thoughts.

"I wasn't anywhere. It was ... just sensations, but they were powerful. I felt like something was chasing me, it was catching me. I could not do anything ... "Her voice broke, showing how that experience had affected her more than other times. "I had to avoid ...I... I could only think of ..."

"Calm down, I'm with you. We are with you. You can tell us everything." Joyce looked at the boys who nodded, trying to reassure her.

Eleven's eyes felt down, ashamed. "I just wanted to die. I could only think about that." Tears began to fall down her face "Horrible. It has been horrible!"

"Calm down, it's over." Mumbled Jonathan.

The girl shook her head, she was still upset. "No, it's not over. You don't understand... "Her face seemed frustrated.

Will sat down next to her "Well, explain it to us. You know that whatever happens, you are not alone in this."

El looked at them and nodded. "It wasn't a nightmare, it was real, they were... memories. "Insisted, "But they weren't mine."

"Who then?"

"I... I don't know."

Will and Jonathan looked at each other.

**To be continued.**

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**Do you like it? No? Let me know with a review. They make me happy and... write faster? :)**


	3. Remember the hurt

Here is the chapter 3! I hope you like it :D Thank you for reading it, and of course, Thank StrangerThanxsAnatomy my beta ;)

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**Chapter 3: Remember the hurt**

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Joyce lit a new cigarette. It was her second pack. As much as she tried to make sums on the calculator, the numbers didn't add up. Her head rested on her hand, with a sleepy expression on her face. "I can't believe it." The pencil fell on the table. It was evident that the new house generated more bills than they could afford. Jonathan also helped with his new job as a journalist, but it was difficult to make ends meet. The family had grown, and their new salaries were nothing to write home about.

She took a drag on her cigarette right just as the phone started ringing.

"Hello?"

"Joyce, is that you? Perfect, let's see. We have only forty seconds per call to avoid being tracked or heard, okay? All good?"

The woman rolled her eyes. Murray Bauman was definitely the definition of a paranoid conspiracy theorist man, and what was worse, she had to suffer his calls at least once a week.

"Yes, yes. All good for now." She leaned against the wall by the phone. It was going to be an exciting conversation. "For God's sake, Murray, I don't think anything's gonna happen if you ask me about the boys. In this city live many more worried boys and mothers; it's not of interest to anyone, not even for a boring telephone operator..."

"Shhh! Joyce, use ... the notebook! Oops ... have to go, thirty-five seconds." The line was cut, and annoying beeps indicated that Bauman had hung up.

"Great," She snorted as her nervous fingers extinguished the cigar in a nearby ashtray. That was far from being over.

The phone rang again, and Joyce picked it up again, knowing she had to summon all her patience.

"Don't say anything, Joyce, let me talk. Well, I will tell you that I have kept watching the forest and, well, although the deer have remained silent, and the frogs are still in the pond, according to my last ... sightings ... the white fox continues to hibernate until winter passes, but, the red fox has asked for... food but I don't know exactly what. I will continue to investigate."

She ran her hand across her forehead as her lips pressed to avoid shouting something obscene. She did not understand anything at all!

"Thirty-seven seconds," Murray stated before the line cut again. Seriously, one of these days, it would be she who hung up. Worst of all, she couldn't call him back. Not even to shout at him how absurd it was.

Murray believed that someone was chasing him, and that is why every time he called her, he used a different public phone. Even so, He had left her a phone number, but it was only for emergencies, and she could only call him in case of impending nuclear catastrophe. Yes, he had literally told her that. Annoying.

How Jim could have considered him a friend is something that escaped her understanding. A man so unnerving with a friend with little patience. That was a potential train wreck. A sad smile drawn on her lips. Several months had passed, and any reason was enough to remember him every day, thinking of everything that could be and was not. Joyce sighed.

Having nothing better to do until the boys return, she decided to check the famous Murray's notebook.

She kept it in a kitchen drawer, under the bowl where she put the cutlery. Who would look there? God, maybe she was becoming as paranoid as he was.

"Let's see." She said aloud as her fingers turned the pages. Bauman had written down several words and their meanings on the side. The forest was Hawkins, obviously. He had talked about a deer, something about a frog ... Oh yes, the white fox that hibernated and some food.

"Fox is ... Russians" She read. Damn it, those guys never got tired? And why had he distinguished between red and white? There were no more types of foxes in the notebook and no colors. Great.

"Food... here: Material. Well, this is not very specific, either. And winter? She passed the pages until she reached the end. "Fuck, Murray, to be so cautious, half of the keywords are missing!"

Joyce remained restless. She didn't know what he had meant by referring to winter, but if it had something to do with the Russians, it couldn't be right.

* * *

Eleven looked at the clock with contempt. There were five minutes left before the bell rang. What a boring class. If she had her powers, she would have moved the clock handle. The girl was having a hard time adapting to school, and not having ever been to classes before didn't make it easier.

Hopper had been preparing her for that moment. He taught her many new words and even brought her books about math. The man seemed obsessed with her learning to do counts. He always said that smart kids knew a lot about it, so it was the only subject that she was good at it.

Other days, if she was fortunate, he picked up a new book from the library. Somebody said that Hopper didn't get along with the Hawkins librarian, so making that effort to get El books was something she appreciated a lot.

Joyce was definitely right. He would have liked her to go to school. Perhaps, that was the only motivation that dragged her, day after day, to attend those dull classes. El couldn't let that effort have been in vain. She felt she owed it to him, it was an outstanding debt.

Finally, the bell rang and started a race by all students to see who left first the class. She finished putting away the books and saw that Will was already at the door. The boy had become her own shadow since she confessed witnessed the memories of another person.

"Ready to go home?" He grinned. "You will not believe it, but today in science class, a frog has escaped, and the professor almost has a heart attack!"

Eleven looked at him with some envy as she headed towards the exit. " Well, nothing unusual happened to me. Oh, yes." The girl pushed the door with a malicious smile. "Mr. Thompson has taken Jodie to the board to solve an equation ..."

"And? Came on, don't play hard to get."

She can't stop herself from laughing. "Well, Jodie is null in math. Then the teacher pointed at me, and I solved it without problems. You should have seen her face when he congratulated me. Whoa. It was super!"

Will and Eleven laughed until they stood in the small parking lot where they had left their bikes. They were not there.

"What?" The surprise was evident in their faces.

"Well ... it seems that someone has lost something, don't you feel sad guys?" A voice behind them replied.

"Jodie!" Exclaimed an outraged Eleven. "Give us back the bikes!"

"Oh Look... not only does she ridicule me in class, but the freak accuses me of being a thief. Wow... That's impressive. " Jodie put her arms around her waist and gave them a daring look. "Let's see if you can calculate this ... two geeks, minus two bikes ... equal to ... you're walking home."

Eleven quickly crossed the distance that separated her from the other girl. "I said, give them back to us." The tone she used made it clear that she was angry, so Jodie's friends began to approach them. They were at least five.

Will took Eleven by the shoulder. "Come on, it's okay... we'll find them," he said, using a conciliatory tone as he looked at the group. The boy definitely didn't want problems.

"Yes, listen to your friend, geek. And go look for them elsewhere."

Eleven took another step. "No!" she was practically nose to nose with the other girl "You will tell us where they are, and you will tell us now!"

Jodie whistled slyly. "And why would I do that? Should I be afraid of you or something?"

Will stood between them. "Come on, Jane, we'll be late."

The boy did not like that scene, he had heard rumors in the school that it was better to go along with that group, they could be real thugs if they wanted to. They said that even one of them had a pocket knife.

"But who invited you to get into this?" One of Jodie's friends punched Will in the stomach, and he doubled in pain.

Eleven witnessed it helplessly, "Will!" She couldn't believe it. The problems were with her, and in the end, there were always others who paid for it.

"Don't worry, I'm fine." Will groaned, trying to straighten.

Jodie took advantage of the distraction and grabbed Eleven by the collar of her shirt, holding her tightly. "Listen to me, fool. If you make me look ridiculous again in class, I swear that you and your friend will regret it. This time they were your silly bikes, but later, well ... who knows."

Eleven looked at her without saying anything. She really didn't know what to say. How could that girl hate her so much, without even knowing her?

"Please, you're boring," Jodie said, releasing her. "No wonder your father is dead, sure it was your fault." She put on a face of intense sorrow. "You killed him of boredom."

Her friends started laughing and left together to another nearby bicycle parking lot.

El was stuck on the site. She shrank, and for a moment, her body forgot how to breathe.

Will began to worry. "Calm down, El, don't listen to them. You know it is not true."

A tear began to fall down the girl's face as she shook her head. In recent months if she had time for something, it was for thinking. Reflect on what she could have done and did not do. How she could have saved Hopper.

"He was with me when I closed the portal of the laboratory. He protected me," The girl murmured. "I wasn't with him when he had to close the Russian one."

"Come on, El, don't do this to yourself. We all did what we could, okay? It was not anyone's fault, let alone yours. You have saved us many times." Will went to hug her, but she turned away from him in anger.

"Yes, it was." There was a determination in her eyes. She believed it. "I was not strong enough to keep my powers, nor quick to dodge that monster in the cabin, nor ready to have known that he would need my help. It's my damn fault!" She screamed.

Jodie and her group turned as they heard that cry and laughed again. Eleven felt an inner unease; tears fell faster. She looked around, feeling nauseous. Everything was out of focus.

El tried to take a deep breath, but her chest ached. She only listened to Will, far away, calling her name and the laughs ... those laughs ... made her sick. The girl felt her head was about to explode and put her hands on both temples.

They had hurt Will right in front of her, and ... were they mocking Hop's death? How dare they?! Messing with her was one thing, but messing with her loved ones was something very different.

.

_...When life hurts you, because it will, remember the hurt. The hurt is good. It means you're out of that cave..._

_._

"Let's go El, they don't deserve your tears." Said the boy in a last attempt to calm her.

"No ..." Her voice was almost inaudible. "No!" Finally, she could breathe air into her lungs, "NooooooOOOO!" That screech full of rage and pain frightened several birds that flew in fright.

A tremendous crunch echoed through the air, and Will spun fast enough to see a significant branch split. It was from the tree that was just above Jodie's friend's bikes.

"What the... hell!" They stated in disbelief just as the big crunch sounded in front of them.

The branch had fallen just above their bikes, reducing them to simply redoubled irons with no greater use than to end up in the landfill.

Will stared at Eleven. Her nose was bleeding.

**To be continued**

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	4. Into darkness

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* * *

**CHAPTER 4: INTO DARKNESS**

.

Will watched El with concern. They had been locked in her room all day, trying to make some sense of what had happened that afternoon at school. She had asked him to keep that a secret, and although he didn't like to lie to his mother, El had given him several compelling reasons. They shouldn't worry Joyce more than necessary, the woman had enough with the bills and the house.

"We should tell my mother ..." the boy declared, trying to avoid the solemn silence that had settled between the two.

Eleven snorted, "No. Not until we have something to tell."

"Something to tell? El, you've broken a tree branch with your powers!" Will respond in disbelief.

She shook her head stubbornly. "I am not sure about that. It could be a coincidence or even just the wind."

"The wind? Are you kidding me?" He had never seen El so irritable. It was as if everything bad that happened in the world was her fault.

She gestured to continue with what they had been trying to do in the last hour. Reluctantly, Will put back an empty canister of coke on the floor.

Eleven looked at it; she imagined in her mind that she was crushing it, twisting it, but it was just that, an imagination. The canister remained there without moving an inch. It was as if that piece of metal was laughing in her face, hard.

"I can't do it." She stated, giving a blow to the can that rolled under the bed until disappearing. Will huffed, he was just as tired as she, but at least they had to try it.

"Calm down. What you did this afternoon was incredible. Do you know why? Because it means that you have not lost your powers, at least not at all. Maybe you need time."

"Time," She repeated, upset. "It's been almost four months. What if they never come back?"

* * *

His chest heaved, sucking air into his lungs. It was so cold that it returned him to the world of the living. Eventually, he opened his eyes. Everything was blurred, and he had to blink several times until the room began to focus. Then He realized that he was lying on the floor, and suddenly, memory flooded back; he would have almost preferred to remain unconscious.

He grunted as he tried to sit up, his muscles were burning with pain. He supposed he had been in the same position for too long, so his body was screaming at him not to move, but his brain didn't agree.

He moved an arm, then a leg, finally managing to roll sideways and raise himself on an elbow. With an effort that made him dizzy, he leaned his back against a nearby wall. He jerked his head around, wincing with pain, and a tremendous desire to throw up, although he didn't know very well what. The man had not tasted a decent meal for so long that his stomach had given up protesting.

"Ironic. Who would have thought that Smirnoff was right?" His husky voice murmured to the darkness, his only companion.

In there, they prepared pigswill food. It was so bad that if you tried a Slurpee later, you could correctly differentiate a whole world of nuances and flavors. He was sure that then he could distinguish between one of strawberry and one of cherry — God, what he would have given for a good glass of ice and sugar.

He smiled in the dim light, just thinking about it. After all, he couldn't complain about that either. Now they fed him, and he could sleep the whole night through. There were some nights that the screams of other prisoners woke him up. He didn't understand what was happening because he had only learned a couple of words in Russian, but they took people away and did not know very well why. It was clear that for nothing good.

The truth is that he didn't care about it either. If he had to choose, he preferred a Russian to shoot him in the back of his head, than a beast devouring him in the world upside down, or worse.

Instinctively he touched a part of his stomach with his hand, wincing as a wave of pain run through his chest. The Russians bandaged it, but despite having already spent several weeks, it burned as the first day. Judging by the spots of dried blood on the fabric, it was still oozing.

"I thought I escaped from you. But you left me a good memory here."

Just before crossing the portal, he had a second encounter with the shadow monster. The man could remember that moment with great detail. How could he ever forget it? That thing caught him by surprise when he was about to cross over to the other side. A tangle of shadows began to swirl, forming the monster, standing between him and the portal.

"No. NO! JUST NO! No monster, no shadow can stand on my way! Not now! I'm so close!"

He cursed heaven for that. It could not give him hope by showing him a portal and snatch it right away with that monster in the middle. It was not fair. None of that was remotely fair. Not when he was so damn close to his... salvation? He didn't care what would find on the other side. He just wanted to go away from that place and that was an opportunity.

Everything happened very fast; the shadow charged to him, ready to nail the damn stinger on him to God knows what. He was able to dodge it by a miracle, but it grazed his abdomen, cutting deep his skin. "Holy shit!" He grunted as the pain shot up his chest, trying hard to ignore the sensation. His fists clenched as he saw the shadow coming back for him. With all of his might, he ran to the portal without looking back. No shadow was going to stop him.

A hurricane wind was behind him, he didn't look back, knowing what he would find.

"You can't escape." Those words echoed in his mind.

"To hell with you!" The wound was burning and losing blood. But being closer and closer to the portal gave him enough strength to keep running.

His mind returned to the present. "Damn it." He cursed as the pain subsided, for he knew that was going to leave a scar, although it was a good reminder.

Thinking about what he had suffered and what that monster could have done with him had helped him cope with the last weeks. The Russians were tireless, but somehow, they could not compare with the horrors he had suffered in the world upside down.

Since he arrived there, they had questioned him several times each day. At first, they used brute force to try to worm information. How ridiculous. Physical suffering cannot make a dent in someone who comes from the damn hell.

They usually gave him all the blows and punches that his body could endure until he was unconscious. But when he woke up in the cell, he discovered that at least they worried about changing his bandage. It was clear that they wanted to keep him alive, at least for now.

He also discovered that they moved him. He didn't know where, but it had to be far. It was less cold, or maybe, his body had grown accustomed to those temperatures, he no longer knew anything for sure. Not since the Russians changed their way of interrogating him.

"I start to see the black hole. I try to resist, but," The man looked at his hand, a slight tremor ran through his muscles.

He rested his head on the wall, his face soaked in cold sweat. It was one of the symptoms. In the last week, they had decided to use some drug, truth serum, or who knows what. It produced tremors, sweat, and after waking up, gaps in his memories. He practically didn't remember anything.

"I don't know how long I can hold." His eyes closed, tiredly.

In each new interrogation session, the Russians knew more than the last time. That could only mean that whatever they were using with him, it worked. Guilt corroded him. They were close to discovering Eleven, and he would never forgive himself for it.

* * *

Everything went black. Eleven didn't know how she made it, but she was in the void. Her feet touched the flooded ground, but other than that, there was nothing else.

"Hello?" The girl asked, looking for some answer. She didn't know what was more disturbing, whether silence or darkness. After a minute, a wall appeared. Her brown raised, not understanding the meaning of that.

Her fingers touched the smooth surface, and she thought she heard a whisper. _"Damn it."_ There was someone behind the wall.

The girl ran to the edge, and when she crossed it, a large lump formed in her throat when she saw a man leaning against the cement.

That man was Jim Hopper. She looked at him closely and immediately regretted doing it. He had lost a lot of weight. His skin was paler than usual, and dark marks were visible beneath his eyes, which had the look of someone who had been under immense pressure. She could tell he had been through a lot.

That image cracked her heart, but what broke it down was to observe his eyes. His blue orbs had turned grey, lost their brightness, and seemed lost.

She knelt beside him, "Hop, I'm here." Emotions didn't let her think clearly. She was glad to see him alive, but at the same time, it hurt to see him like that. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him he wasn't alone.

_"I start to see the black hole. I try to resist, but,"_

He had always been her rock, her protector. Not that she needed to be protected, but Hopper inspired confidence, some stability. Maybe not ever in the right way, but he was in charge of everything going well. Seeing him so broken was heartbreaking.

_"I don't know how long I can hold."_

El felt a twinge in the stomach. "Hold on. I will find you." She put her hand on his cheek. "I promise."

Her fingers pierced Hopper, as if it were a ghost. His whole body began to evaporate, becoming smoke, disappearing.

Eleven looked scared at her empty hands. "No! No please, don't leave me!" She felt dizziness but kept screaming, hoping that in the distance, he could hear her "Hold on! I'm going to find you, I promise!"

The darkness began to clear, and distant voices spoke to her.

"Honey come on! Wake up!"

El opened her eyes and met a pretty nervous Joyce. Behind was Will, just as scared as her mother.

"What?" The girl looked around, confused. It was her room, but why was everything spinning around?

Immediately Jonathan entered, bringing a damp towel to his mother, "Don't worry, I already have you, ok?"

"What happens? Why am I dizzy?" El looked at her reflection in a wall mirror in front of her. She could hardly see both the nose and the ears were bleeding. Joyce drained the towel of the extra water and began to clean her blood.

"Calm down. The bleeding has stopped. But you better lie down. Don't worry, it's just been a bad dream, and it's barely midnight." The woman stated.

"I..."

Jonathan helped her down carefully to bed "Shh ... nothing happens."

"Joyce…" El started, "I saw him."

The woman inspired air. "I know, honey. I know. But remember, they are only nightmares. It's not real."

"No ... Joyce. I saw him. Hopper. I have seen him." El took the woman's hand, "He's alive."

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	5. Phantom Signal (Part I)

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* * *

**Chapter 5: Phantom Signal (Part I)**

.

The fork didn't stop moving around the bowl. El held it taking nothing into her mouth.

"Will you take a bite of salad?" Joyce's tone showed a hint of concern as she spoke.

"I've already told you. I'm not hungry," El replied as the fork dug into her meal.

Joyce observed as the girl jabbed with anger the contents of her plate. "The lettuce isn't to blame." She responded with a chuckle before her voice became serious again. "Be patient."

"Is he not going to appear? We have been here for more than half an hour" The fork fell to the table, loudly.

Joyce sighed. Deep down, She knew the girl was right. They had been driving almost a whole day, and to top it off, the woman had had to make up to four calls with five different people to locate Bauman. She can't believe that the emergency number he gave her was his mother's phone. Seriously? At least, the lovely old woman would have promised to contact him. And there she was. With a teenager on the verge of impatience while she blamed herself for having left her boys at home.

"I don't like this place. We're wasting our time. And it's... so noisy" El looked around, disgusted.

Bauman had requested to meet them at a roadside bar that was practically in the middle of nowhere. The entire counter was full of truckers, laughing and shouting while watching a baseball game on television. It was unbearable. Why they didn't stop laughing? That sound was drilling her eardrums. In recent months, happy people bothered her more than usual. Why couldn't she be the same as the others? Oh, and the guy at the opposite table. A colossal newspaper covered his face and made too much noise when he passed the pages. El thought about throwing the fork at him. She was going crazy.

"What if he doesn't come?" The girl asked.

Joyce fiddled with her fingers as she looked out the window, observing the parking lot and waiting to see Murray get out of a car.

"Well ..." She hesitated, "If he doesn't come, we'll try to look for him in another way. Look, I know you're worried, and I understand. But…"

Eleven pushed the plate and looked away from the table, angry. "We have to find him, Joyce. We are wasting time and ... there is no time. He is hurt. He needs help and soon."

The girl couldn't get the image of Hopper out of her mind. Wasted and hopeless. In fact, she had barely been able to sleep that night.

Joyce pursed her lips. She understood the girl's unease, but they had nowhere to start searching on their own, they needed Bauman's help, he had contacts and had been investigating in recent months, maybe he had some clue. Besides, She didn't know for sure if Hopper was really alive. It could have been another nightmare. The woman had been dragged by Eleven simply because she also wanted to believe he was alive... somewhere.

"We will do our best to discover what happened. Ok?" Joyce stated.

El's gaze pierced the woman, "So, you don't believe me."

"I didn't say that." Joyce tried to defend herself. After all, She was there when everything happened, knew that Hopper could not have survived. Could he? Why was she cheating herself?

"Enough!" The man in front exclaimed, closing the newspaper with a bang.

Joyce turned grumpily. "Excuse me?"

Murray Bauman got up and with a theatrical outrage and threw away the newspaper he had been reading on the girls' table.

"For the love of God. You can't read quietly with so much yackety-yak." Bauman spoke as he walked to the exit.

Joyce's jaw opened to reply, but Eleven pointed to a written note in the newspaper. "Parking lot. Now. Blue Chevrolet."

The woman rolled her eyes.

* * *

Murray's new house was quite picturesque. Joyce began to doubt if it had been a good idea to ask him for help. That was not the house of a paranoid man, but of an authentic lunatic one. The walls were full of newspaper clippings, photographs, pen notes, and many of those notes were bound with colored threads. All this formed a web that she had not seen even in the best detective films or... murderous psychopath ones.

"Good. Welcome to my humble home. Here we are secure, and we can talk about that worries you so much, but please, come in, make yourself comfortable. Something to drink? Vodka, maybe?" Bauman asked, strolling through some boxes with more newspapers that filled the floor of the room.

Joyce looked worriedly at all the mess, without believing what her eyes saw. "No, eh... Murray, there is no time for that."

"Come on, Joyce, there is always time for Vodka!" He said, disappearing into what looked like some kind of a kitchen.

Joyce and Eleven looked at each other, words were not necessary. The girl raised her eyebrow, asking if this man could really help them, in her opinion, the one who needed help was him. The older woman shook her head, disregarding that disorder.

"Murray, I…" Suddenly, Joyce stopped talking, stunned by what her eyes saw. In the background was a man sitting in a chair. He was attached to a radio relay, with headphones that kept him absorbed from what was going on around him. "Who the hell is that?!" Her voice a mix of a yell and a murmur.

Murray looked at the radio set. "Oh. Don't worry. It's agent Jones. A little sparing in words, but he does his job."

"Are you insane!?" Now she was screaming. "Agent?" Joyce did not leave her astonishment. "You're kidding, right?" Before she could continue, the other man had noticed them and rose from his post. He looked uneasily at Bauman and then at the woman. His surprise was more significant when he saw the kid. His eyes narrowed at Bauman without knowing very well what he should do.

"Hey, yes, of course. Joyce, I introduce you to Eric Jones. Federal agent. And this is Joyce, a friend and…" Bauman turned to El, thinking about how to introduce her, but Joyce stepped forward. "She is Jane. My... niece."

The girl just nodded as she looked at the federal agent uncomfortably. They didn't have time for ridiculous presentations, although she realized that the feeling was mutual. Jones looked back at her in bewilderment and annoyance.

Eleven just observed him, he was a big man, not as much as Hopper but bigger than Bauman. The girl assumed he wasn't more than forty years old; Tall and thin, with dark hair and hazel eyes that were looking straight at her. It was clear that he saw her as an interruption.

Bauman tried to calm his guest. "Good. Now we know each other. Well, then it's time to tell you my new discoveries!"

"Murray, can we talk?" Joyce took Bauman's arm and led him to the kitchen.

"What the hell is all this about? Who really is that guy?" She spoke, making sure that the agent was not listening.

Bauman made a silly face and took two vases, filling them with a bottle of Vodka. He was going to need it. "Joyce. Calm down. I have it all under control." He emptied his glass. "More or less."

"Seriously? It turns out that the most paranoid man in the world trust a government agent? What have they done with you, Bauman?!"

"Spare me!" His glass was filled again. "Look, Joyce. I have been investigating in the last months all that I have been able to, but this ... goes beyond a journalistic report or a conspiracy. This is war, an international conflict between two powers. Did you really think I wasn't going to ask the government for help? I'm not that crazy!"

Joyce opened her mouth to answer but closed it again.

"Apparently, the Russians are still hanging around here. They don't let themselves be seen much, but I know they are still here. Don't know the reason. So, I had to ask Owens for help, he said he would send someone to help me, and in less than two hours, Jones appeared at my door. This is more serious than it seems. Since when are they in such a hurry?"

Joyce snatched the glass and drank it in one gulp.

Murray smiled as she made an unpleasant face. "I already explained it to you when I called. I guess that's why you're here."

"Oh, that. Yeah, the thing with the forest and the foxes. The coded message? To be honest, I didn't understand a single word." She confessed.

"Then why are you here?" He was confused.

"Yes. Tell it now." Eleven said from the doorframe, next to Jones.

"What the?! This is a private conversation!" Joyce exclaimed, annoyed.

The federal agent crossed his arms. "Stops being private when the screams are heard throughout the whole house."

"Anyway! I think it's time to talk about my new discovery!" Murray ignored all of them and went to the central room, taking a notebook from a big wooden table that was in the middle. "The Russians are looking for something! Or... are discovered something. I don't know what... BUT!" He did a dramatic face as he threw away some papers from the table, trying to clear it to put new notes on it. "They had stolen classified property from the U.S. government."

Jones was the first to spoke. "What?! That's not possible."

"What do you mean by 'property.' Like... someone?" Joyce said, testing the waters.

Murray looked at the two a bit disappointed. "What? Not that I know." His finger pointed with enthusiasm to his notebook. "They had stolen the security records from the Starcourt mall." He finished, excited.

"What, sorry? What for? The mall was theirs." El asked, a bit lost.

"Exactly. That night in the mall, they had to run away from the base when the American army rushed inside. They could manage to take away everything in the secret base. Except... they couldn't do that with the mall upside. Why they would take so much risk to steal the security records now, months later?"

Everyone was looking at Bauman, waiting for a response. "They must have discovered something, right now, about that night. And whatever it is, it must be significant enough to rob the American government's super-secret files to find out."

Jones buffed. "As I said, it's impossible. All the Starcourt material from that night was stored and is protected in the pentagon itself with stringent security measures. The Russians can't enter there. Your informant is merely wrong."

"I assure you that my informant is right. And..." His brow furrowed as if something has been overlooking. "Joyce. If you aren't here because of the Russians, what is it?"

Joyce glanced at the two men, unsure. "Well... we think ... there would be some chance that ... okay, the truth is ... it would be possible that ..."

Bauman made wild gesticulations with his hands. "For heaven's sake, spit it out!"

El shocked her head, tired. "Hopper is alive."

"Sorry, what?" Bauman looked up at Joyce, searching for confirmation. He didn't find any. "Are you talking about Jim? The same Jim... You know..., big, arrogant and self-opinionated man? Our Jim?"

"It's... complicated to explain. But, it could be a possibility that Jim survived." Joyce started, "I need you to think about everything you've seen in recent months if anything can be related to Hopper, any small thread, any clue, something."

Murray remained silent. His gaze fixed on the opposite wall, it seemed that his mind had gone elsewhere. Joyce came to believe that he was having an aneurysm.

"Murray? Are you ok?"

"Don't talk to me. I need more Vodka."

* * *

It was late. Night had already fallen, although in that hole Murray called home, it was barely distinguishable whether it was day or night.

Bauman was still immersed in his notebooks, nothing matched what Joyce told him. Had she suddenly gone crazy? No one could survive that, and yet, he had seen so many strange things in recent months that ... he just didn't know what to think, so he gave her a small vote of confidence and decided to look for some clue in his notes.

Meanwhile, Joyce kept moving her fingers, nervous and clearly absorbed. Suddenly a bag fell to her side, pulling her out of her thoughts. The woman looked up to meet Jones.

"I'm sorry. It's the only thing I could find at this time, but you should eat something. Between you and me, don't share it with Bauman, or he'll get used to it." He muttered slyly.

Joyce returned a slight smile. Such courtesy. "Hey, I'm sorry… about before. But I find it strange that someone like you is here." She realized that she was not settling the things by saying that. "Excuse me again. I…"

"It's crystal clear that you don't like a federal near you."

"Yes." Joyce's eyes widened, realizing her error. What the hell was she thinking? Admitting that implies that you have something to hide and could make him believe that you could be a potential criminal. "Well... I'm not... I"

Jones smiled, guessing her thoughts. "Relax. I don't know any criminal that travels with her family" He grinned, pointing at El, who was peacefully sleeping on a sofa nearby.

Joyce signed, a bit relieved. "The trip was very long, and she was exhausted. But she'll appreciate the burgers when she wakes up. Thank you."

"Well... The day has been very long for everyone, you don't know what it is to survive Bauman for a... whole week," He emphasized his words dramatically. "I'm going to rest. And you should sleep too." He gave one last look to Bauman. "When he starts looking, it's like a hound, it doesn't stop. If you need blankets, there is more in the back closet."

Joyce nodded thankfully as the federal agent left the room and returned her attention to the hamburger. It seemed delicious. Before she could take the first bite, a notebook was thrown against the wall.

"Found something?" She teased.

Murray looked at her. If looks could kill... He took a deep breath and then faced her. A solemn posture announcing that it would not be a yes or no answer. "Joyce. What are you hiding from me?"

"Sorry. What?"

"Seriously. You come after four months because right now, it has given you to think that" Murray trailed off as his hand rubbed his forehead, "Joyce. This isn't good for you. Look, I know that you and he had ... something ... but Jim was also my friend, and I don't think he wanted you to waste your time looking for ... a ghost. "

"Do you think that I'm making this up?"

"Why come back after four months? What changed now?" The woman remained silent, so he continued, "Look... You have no proof. By God, Joyce, you were a witness. No one can survive that explosion. Jim was a tough guy, but he was just a man. Don't create false hopes. Don't do this to yourself…"

She cleared her throat. "This ridiculous conversation... does that mean you haven't found anything?"

He could have answered a million things, but he didn't want to hurt her. "Joyce. Go to sleep."

She was about to respond to him when a sound shocked them. It was white noise.

Surprised, Murray went to the radio table, "Jones must have left it on."

Just suddenly, the white noise became voices. It was a man and he was speaking Russian.

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	6. Phantom Signal (Part II)

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*** WARNING: This chapter contains torture. If you are uncomfortable reading about such topic, don't read it. You've been warned.

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* * *

**CHAPTER 6: PHANTOM SIGNAL (PART II)**

.

With tremendous speed, Jones ran to connect a kind of cassette recorder to the radio while Murray took a pen and a notebook, ready to write down everything. It was not the first time they intercepted a Russian signal.

Joyce looked at them nervously because she didn't understand a word of what the radio was broadcasting. A cigarette would have been good.

"Murray, what happens!" She exclaimed on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Both men turned to ask her to shut up. After a minute, which Joyce thought was an eternity, Murray looked up, surprised.

"It's odd. This signal is not a retransmission of any code, or a statement or even a message. It's as if someone was spying on a conversation and broadcasting it on the radio. The dial is not even correct. It's damn weird."

Joyce opened wide her eyes realizing what they were hearing. Without saying a single word, she went to the sofa where El was. The girl was still asleep, but a thread of blood fell from her nose. That was no coincidence. The woman quickly returned to the radio station and looked very seriously at Bauman. "This is not just any conversation. Translate it, Murray."

Joyce's tone of resentment and anger was enough not to question that order. "They are medical terms; they speak of a dose of something. I don't know very well, wait, now someone else is talking. It is throwing him in the face of being wrong."

"Dose of what?"

Murray rolled his eyes. "If you don't shut up, I can't catch up!"

Joyce crossed her arms, trying to be patient.

"Ok. The Russians are talking about sodium, yes, sodium pentothal. What the hell is that? I have no idea."

"I do." Jones stated, "It's a drug; it's used to make truth serum."

Joyce looked at him, shocked. "That exists? Really?"

The federal nodded at them, serious. "You're right. It's not an ordinary conversation. It's an interrogation."

Bauman felt nervous all of a sudden, "But to who?"

The woman yelled at him. "Translate, now!"

* * *

El stepped through the void, hearing distant, distorted voices. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and paid full attention to the sound, was getting closer. The girl opened her eyes and saw a man sitting in a chair.

Without thinking straight, she raced to him. His wrists handcuffed behind the back, showing marks that indicated that he had tried to struggle without success, his head down, exhausted.

"Hop?" El stood by his side, observing him. His eyes were half-open, and his breathing was elaborate, panting as if being awake was a great effort. Her fists clenched until her knuckles turned white. What had they done to him? Hopper was worse, and there was no progress in finding him. The feeling of helplessness filled her. Why couldn't she locate him? It was what she knew how to do best, and yet she couldn't discover it. The answer was easy. El had sought strangers or friends who were not at imminent danger. Sentiments were playing tricks; she had to keep her head cold. Concentrate only on the place, on the details, on the sound.

The voices intensified in her mind. They talked weird, didn't understand what they were saying. Then appeared a dense fog that became two figures. One wore a military uniform, the other a white coat, like a doctor. They seemed angry with each other and then heard a distant voice that was translating what those men said. Was it Murray? She smiled; the bald eagle was good after all.

"I told you it was too soon. His body has not yet expelled the previous dose; he can't take it anymore until at least one day passes."

"It's your fault; apparently, you have not measured well. Besides, we are running out of time. We have the U.S. government snooping very close, and the Kremlin demands evidence to justify the operation. The American knows who she is and where she is, and he will tell us, no matter what."

"But Colonel Ivanov ... he isn't able to ..."

The military ignored him and turned to Hopper. "Hey you, it's not time to fall asleep, we're not done with you yet." He snapped his fingers and pointed at someone. Another soldier appeared behind the prisoner, who grabbed his hair, making him look up at the colonel. The movement stirred him a little, but he was too shattered even to protest. His glassy eyes attempted to focus on his surroundings.

"Let's try again." The colonel took a picture and put it in front of Hopper. "Who is she?"

El was curious and watched the image, and her surprise was enormous. It was a picture of her and Hopper, taken the terrible night they parted at the mall. How is that even possible? It was a black and white photo, a little blurry, and of poor quality. How did they have that picture? And what did they want?

She concentrated, needed to focus, clear her mind, make an attempt - perhaps impossible - to get more information. More. A table appeared next to the doctor.

El went to it. On its surface, she could see several medical utensils and some empty syringes. A sickening feeling almost made her vomit, thinking that they probably have used them with Hop, a knot appeared in her stomach, and for a moment she wanted to turn away. "Cold head. Cold head" A deep breath filled her lungs as she kept looking. Next to the doctor was an open folder with pictures coming out of it. She could not open it, so only observe. There were several images; all were from the mall and all taken from the same place, with the same angle. A security record? Oh! Her brain realized what Murray had told them about the stealing of some recordings from the government. Those must be pictures extracted from the records.

Her pulse sped up; they were pictures of her when she threw the car to the Russians bad men, the giant mead monster, the hug with Hopper. Her legs trembled as she felt a spinning sensation. No, her vision can't conclude, not yet; she still hadn't been able to locate where they had Hopper. Her hands came to her temples, trying to ignore the feeling of dizziness.

"Who is she?!" Ivanov roared, apparently starting to lose his temper.

Hopper opened his mouth; it seemed he was going to say something, but was miles away from there, so he just gasped. After what seemed like a great effort, hi lips managed to stammer something. "Eleven"

The colonel raised his arms angrily and headed towards the doctor. "He is too stunned. He doesn't even know what he says, the same number, over and over, it's ridiculous."

The doctor shrugged. "I told you it was too soon for another dose. You have to wait for him to detoxify."

That was not the answer his boss wanted to hear. The coronel furrowed. "Nonsense, Smirnov. Give him something, so he brightens up."

"I can't give him anything else; it would kill him. Right now, he's a shaker with legs."

The colonel took Smirnov by the shoulders and used a more leisurely voice, to intimidate him. He was the best at that. "I will give you a brief reminder. Here two things are done. We fulfill the orders and our duty." He paused, squeezing the doctor's shoulders. "In case you have forgotten, your duty right now is to keep this asshole alive until I get the information, and the orders are that you give him something to brighten him up. Go!"

Smirnov gulped, the message was clear: Do what he told or you'll regret it. He scratched his chin and searched among all the vials on the table. He would have to improvise.

Ivanov gave an order to the other soldier who stared impassively at everything that happened in that room as if it were something almost ordinary for him. "Hold him."

Hold him? Why? He could barely sit on the chair. Her lungs felt a lack of air. What would they do with him?

The soldier tilted the prisoner's head and held it firmly, exposing his neck. "No ..." Hopper murmured under his breath, knowing what comes next.

The colonel moved closer to him, looking at his eyes with disdain. "Then tell me who she is, and this will be over."

The American blinked, confused, disoriented, trying hard to answer him. "El-even?"

Irritated, the colonel shook his head and made a gesture to his subordinates. Almost immediately, Hopper felt the needle prick the side of his neck, twinged his nerves with a sharp jolt as he clenched his teeth together, forcing himself to be still.

The feeling of the contents of the syringe, emptying quickly through his veins, made him react from his stupor. He writhed or at least tried.

"EL!" He cried as the soldier hold him tighter.

It was Dantesque, seemed he was calling her and that only made her anguish grow. It was too much. Her father's pain fueled her with anger and at the same time, paralyzed her. She couldn't do anything to help him, and neither couldn't figure out where he was. The feeling of dizziness intensified.

"No!" Rage surged on her, "NO!"

Ivanov looked up. The fluorescent light on the ceiling had begun to blink, disturbing his sight.

Hopper fought to breathe, his chest burning even though he sucked in lungful after lungful air, but the blood that pumped through his veins burned like acid. A searing pain shot up his spine hitting the base of his skull like a flaming arrow. He couldn't help it, he screamed with all the few forces he had left.

That sound was so much heartbreaking that she also shouted in panic and anguish. The girl put her hands to her head, thinking she was fainting.

The fluorescent of the ceiling beamed with a great flash of light, illuminating the entire room for just a second before bursting into a thousand pieces.

* * *

Jones jumped in surprise at the sight of the radio's bursting; a high flame came from inside it. "Fuck!" He cursed as he quickly looked for a blanket to extinguish the fire.

Murray was still astonished.

"Hey, are you going to help me? Remember, this is your house!" Jones exclaimed, putting out the last flame.

"It was him," Murray stated. "It was his voice." His gaze fixed on Joyce, who was holding the girl on her arms — comforting her.

Jones put his hand on Bauman's shoulder, trying to get his attention. "Hey. Someone is going to explain to me what the hell is going on because this has been so weird."

"It was him. Jim. The damn Ruskies have Jim."

* * *

***** AUTHOR's NOTE: I want to announce that my beta reader has banished (No idea why :( ) so I would like to ask if someone would like to beta read this story. My first language isn't English so, in order to update it, I'll need someone to check the grammar errors. Please, PM me if you would like to help me :) This chapter wasn't checked so... I'm very sorry for my grammar or inconsistencies.**


	7. Line in the sand

**Thank you for your support! You're all great! Especially, thanks to StrangerThanXsAnatomy, my beta reader, for being so kind to me! :)**

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**CHAPTER 7: Line in the sand**

**.**

Murray dumped the contents of the bottle of vodka. It was empty, and his glass had not even filled halfway. "Damn it." He cursed grumpily. A hand took away the glass of liquor and instead left a cup full of black coffee.

"Let's recap," Joyce said, sitting next to him and holding her own cup of coffee, bigger. "According to… the signal we have heard. The Russians have Hop."

Her voice went out as she translated into words what they had heard. Hopper's scream was still drilling her head. It had been scary. How long he would have to endure that?

"Joyce. Focus. If we want to find Jim. First, we have to know what we are facing and to have a clear idea, I need you to stop the bullshit and tell me what you are hiding from me."

Joyce wet her lips and looked around. Her eyes only found El, sitting on the sofa, holding her head with the palms of her hands, gaze lost, thoughtful.

"Where is Jones?" Joyce asked with a low voice.

"Not here. Eric has gone to town to call Owens."

"Why? Isn't it more comfortable to call from your phone?"

"Are you crazy? One thing is to have a fed here, and another thing is that my super secure line ceases to be… neither super nor safe. The phone is only and strictly for emergencies."

"I think this is an emergency," Joyce said in disbelief. She would never confess that she had already used his super-secret phone to call Jonathan.

"Joyce. Stop beating around the bush and tell me what happened. Until now, the Russians had kept a low profile, they had only talked about supplies, as if it were a sleeping cell, waiting for something to happen." He took a sip of coffee. "And suddenly, they infiltrate the pentagon to get the security recordings of Starcourt. Right now. Exactly when you think that Hopper is alive and... suddenly the radio starts to emit an impossible signal, proving you right. I'm a man who doesn't believe in coincidences, Joyce."

"You're right," she said, preparing for the roller coaster that was coming. "It is not a coincidence. The number that Hopper confessed to the Russians is not a number. Is a person. It's her. They're looking for her."

El got up from the couch when she heard about "her" and headed towards them.

Murray nodded, trying to process the information. "Ok. But. Why would Russians be interested in a girl? And why now?"

"Because they discovered me in the stolen recordings of Starcourt. There were pictures of Hopper and me. Of what I can do. They hurt him because they want to find me," She said with a lump in her throat. Thinking about it made her sick.

"So… they interrogate Hopper, make him confess, he leads them to some important details of Starcourt. Do we guess what it has to do with... the gate?" Murray scratched his beard. "With that information, they steal the security recordings and discover you. Wait ... how could you know all that? Because I still can't explain how we heard the radio signal ..."

The girl looked at Joyce, who nodded.

"With my powers."

Murray smiled incredulously, "Sorry, did you say? Powers?" His arm pointed to the ground. "No, no, no. Line in the sand."

Joyce looked at him with a sheepish look. "Maybe, we ignored telling you that part the last time. It's a very long history." She answered dismissively.

"Seriously, Joyce? Seriously?!" He crossed his arms as his foot patted the floor, repeatedly. "You forgot to tell me that she has powers? And what kind of powers…" Murray trailed off. "Wait a minute… you are the Russian girl!"

El made a disgusted face, offended. "I am not Russian, and I need a Walkman. I think I have an idea."

Murray was lost at words. Children, he never liked them. His eyes looked at his coffee. It was not going to be enough.

* * *

"Ughh," Hopper grunted as his eyes opened. How many more times would he have to wake up like this? Judging by his battered body, not too many. The ceiling light was too bright, it gave him a headache. Where was he? His mind didn't remember much. He tried to turn his head to look around, his neck was burning. "Great ..." He murmured as he managed to look to his left.

In the fog of his eyes, he could barely see that he had been returned to his cell. Although he didn't understand why a guard was securing the door.

As soon as the soldier realized that the prisoner was awake, he looked at him with a grim face and adjusted the rifle in his hands, it was a warning.

Hopper smiled wryly. What should that poor devil think of him? He was not in such a position to move, and yet that soldier was armed to the teeth. They considered him dangerous, there was no doubt. Oddly enough, it comforted him.

He felt as cold fingers hold his wrist. He turned his head too sharply to the other side. Everything was spinning. His eyes closed, trying to avoid dizziness.

Definitely, this time, they had given him something stronger. He opened his eyes again to find the doctor taking his pulse on his wrist as he looked closely at his own wristwatch.

"Son of a b****, get away from me, or I'll going to…"

"To What." The doctor responded without taking his gaze off his watch. He didn't want to lose count.

Hopper was lost at words. "You… speak English?" His face couldn't hide his surprise. He had always heard him speak in Russian, although he didn't care much either, he wasn't going to start a conversation with him. What were they going to talk about? Weather?

"I am one of the few who speak it on this base. And I would recommend you to shut up. You would save strength, and I would work better. We all win." Smirnov said, turning to a small medical bag.

From the angle Hopper was lying, his eyes barely saw much. "To save strength ..." He smirked, fearing the worst. "So what, that your colonel can continue playing to be a tough guy as you use me as a Guinea Pig? Leave me sober one day, under the same conditions, and I'll send you both to hell."

"That's your problem, Rambo." The doctor answered. "The colonel likes to break the prisoners. You are a challenge for him. He won't leave you alone until he destroys you."

The American looked at the other man, shocked. Why did he share that information with him? Was he trying to scare him? "And you care about that? Look. I am... or was a policeman. I know how good cop and bad cop technique goes. Don't bother, it won't work with me."

"Good cop?" He laughed at that. "What worries me, seriously, is that you will die too early because they will blame me."

"Well... it seems that we're in the same shit then."

The Russian proceeded to lift part of Hop's shirt, exposing his belly. The American began to get nervous, hating to feel so helpless.

"Calm down, Rambo. I'm going to take a look and to change your bandages. Do not move."

"As if I could have," Hopper smirked.

The doctor removed the previous bandage and made a nasty face, "I don't understand it. It should be closed by now, and it's still oozing. How did you get it?"

Hopper gulped, not wanting to remember the last encounter with the shadow monster. "Playing football, what do you think?"

While the doctor began to put on new bandages, Hopper looked at the soldier at the door. "What's wrong with him? He seems agitated."

"Gossips run very fast through the base. It's because of the fluorescent lamp exploding."

Hop looked back at him, trying to remember something, but none of that made sense in his battered head. "The what?"

"Oh, yes. In the last interrogation, a fluorescent lamp exploded. It's weird, there was no tension overload. And a light bulb can happen, but a fluorescent light? Impossible. So... they're starting to think that perhaps you have powers too, like the girl."

Hopper grimaced in disbelief as his mind processed that information. He prayed to heaven not to have said any stupidity about El. In spite of that, He was curious to discover what had happened. His gaze was fixed at the soldier again, that could be true, the man looked at him almost fearfully. How could he use that in his favor?

The doctor stretched the bandage enough to get back his attention.

"Ouch!"

"Hey ... don't go too smart because you're not. Now the colonel will want to check if you actually have powers, and believe me, he's quite imaginative, and not in a good way."

"Do you believe that I have powers?"

"It does not matter what I believe. But, if you had them, you would have escaped from here a long time ago. They are too stubborn and rigid to understand that."

Hopper glared at him suspiciously. "The colonel is not your cup of tea, ah?" That guy, despite his role as a sadistic scientist, was beginning to remind him of Alexei. Maybe, this man was just as scared of Russian soldiers as Alexei was. Who knows. Or perhaps he was just doing the good cop thing. Or nothing of all that, and he was just had a good day in hell. "What's your name?"

"Smirnov"

Hopper lifted a brown. "Finally, I know a real Smirnoff."

"It's Smirnov."

"Whatever"

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Goshen, Indiana.

It was the last dish left to wash when a series of hard knocks on the door made him turn off the tap. "Yes. I'm coming." Jonathan opened the door of the house, an FBI badge welcomed him, it belonged to a man with a suit and an expressionless face. "What?" Jonathan said without leaving his astonishment.

"Hello, kid," spoke another voice in a friendly tone as that man approached his partner. "Do you remember me?"

"Yes, I believe. You're the doctor who examined my brother, right?"

Precisely, with the fuss, Will approached the door. "Is something wrong, Doctor Owens?"

"No, no… nothing to be alarmed, I suppose." Owens hesitated, looking at both of them. "Is your mother at home?"

Jonathan looked confused. "I'm sorry? Of course not…"

"Yes, well, we are actually looking for Mr. Murray Bauman, but since he is a guy who ... does not like to be found, we are having some trouble locating him, we think maybe your mother could help us."

"How can you not know where Murray is?" Jonathan was starting to get nervous. "My mother has phoned saying that she is precisely with him, and also with the fed that you sent to Murray, yourself."

Owens exchanged worried glances with his partner.

"What the hell are you talking about, kid. What agent? We haven't sent anyone."

**Hey! What do you think? Leave a review and let me know :)**


	8. Down the road

**I'm very sorry for the delay in updating this. Life has been crazy this week.**

**Thank you very much for your reviews, it's always nice to hear from you. And I hope you all reviews this one too ;) let me know what do you think!**

**Special Thanks to my beta-reader StrangerThanXsAnatomy! You're great! :)**

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**Chapter 8: Down the road**

.

Joyce kept walking around the living room of the house. Nothing made sense. At least now she was sure of one thing; Hopper was alive. Knowing that had relieved her. The last few months had been terrifying, thinking that, somehow, she was responsible for his death. That thought made her shiver.

She was also sure of something else; everything has a price. He was alive, yes, but for how long? How was he enduring that? The last thing they had heard was a kind of explosion, and then nothing, the radio had literally melted. What had happened next? Would he still be alive? Too many questions and too few answers.

El didn't want to talk about it. No one could blame her for it. Joyce had only heard the sound, and it broke her heart. But the girl had seen it with her own eyes. It had to have been horrible, nobody deserves to witness that.

The girl had asked Murray for a Walkman to hear the recording. That was what she did the last hour, listening to that terrible scene, over and over, in a loop.

That seemed sickly, but no one dared to tell her anything. Especially after she stated firmly that she needed to concentrate and recreate the memory in her mind to find Hop.

"Joyce, if you keep going around, you're going to make a hole in the ground," Murray joked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"This is ... too much." The woman sat on the sofa next to Murray, both looking at Eleven lying on the floor, with the Walkman's headphones on and eyes closed. Every time the recording ended, She rewound it and hit the play button again. They knew perfectly when she reached the end because her eyes were clenched, and her countenance was a mixture of concentration and pain.

"Honestly, I don't know what she's doing," Murray responded tired, the fatigue was making a dent in the man.

"She maintains that for a second, she saw the entire room where they held Hopper. She thinks that if she concentrates enough, she can remember it and maybe find out where he is."

Murray looked at his half-empty glass. "You believe it?"

"I think ... we should try anything to find him." Joyce leaned back on the sofa, feeling Bauman's questioning look on her. "During the last few months, I have not been able to stop thinking that, in the end, it was I who turned the keys. It was I who killed him."

Murray shocked his head. "Don't say that. After all, You saved the world."

"At what price?" Her gaze lowered, ashamed.

"Well... Now we know that Jim's not dead." He sighed.

"You have heard the same as me. Damn it, Murray, they are slowly killing him." Her hand flew to her mouth, suppressing her hurt.

Murray smiled sadly. "Joyce, promise me that if we get out of it, you'll put aside your stupid guilt and give yourself a damn chance with him."

Joyce pressed her lips nervously, trying hard to keep the tears back. "I know he would have done anything if he had been in my place, I owe him that, okay? And please… now I need the damn vodka."

The man grinned gloomily. On the way to the kitchen, he had the habit of looking at the monitors connected to his security cameras. Two cars were parking outside the house. Several men began to get out of the vehicles, and the bottle slipped from his hands, falling to the ground and forming an endless glass. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He shouted in alarm.

"What's wrong?" Joyce asked, startled. El had also heard the noise and was approaching them.

"Let's go. NOW!" His voice raised exasperated.

The woman looked at the monitor, the men went to the door and were armed with Kalashnikov rifles. No doubt, they were Russian. "What the hell! How did they find us? Please, Murray, tell me you have another way out other than through the door."

"You offend me, Joyce, of course, I have an emergency exit. Come on, over here!"

Joyce took El's hand and followed Murray to a door that led down to a basement.

Their feet were stumbling over all the steps as they rushed down into the underground space. "Come on, come on, don't stop." Murray murmured, as several blows indicated the Russians were trying to knock the door down.

Quickly, he went to a closet, which -as in all good mystery movies- turned out to be a hidden door that hid other stairs up.

"Seriously?" Joyce would have laughed if their lives were not in danger.

They began to climb them just as the door of the house gave way. The Russians were inside the house.

Murray climbed outside the back of the house. His lungs barely had breath, definitely too old for that. His hand helped Joyce and El to exit the house, and when they were going to run away, the engine of a car came alive, and multiple headlights dazzled the three of them.

Joyce covered her face with her arm trying to make her eyes adjust to the sudden light, but she could immediately see two men aiming at them with rifles. A third one got out of the car and approached them as well.

"How rushed you are, Bauman." The voice didn't have a Russian accent. "Fortunately, this week, I've had time to see all the exits of the house."

Murray couldn't believe it. "Jones? What the hell are you doing?" The FBI agent? What did he do with the Russians?

"Sorry, Bauman. It's nothing personal." He came close enough to look at the three of them. "My friends here just want the girl. Give her to us, and we will leave. Don't do anything stupid, and no one will be hurt."

"Bullshit," Joyce replied, stepping forward. "Do you think we are going to trust you, after all of this? You are a damn Russian spy! And I have already seen what you are capable of doing ... If you think you can come here and take away the girl, you must be delirious."

"Joyce..." Murray began, knowing that this was not going to end well. They were armed guys, and he was practically in slippers!

"No! This guy is probably the cause of our problems."

"Joyce, for the love of God, just shut up!" He exploded.

"Fuck, he could even be the spy in the Pentagon, the one who stole the Starcourt recording tapes."

Murray raised his arms angrily without believing what Joyce had just done.

"Bauman is right. You have to shut up. Now I'm afraid we can't let you go. You know too much." A gun appeared in his hand. "Give us the girl, and I promise it will be fast."

Eleven saw how the Russians cocked their weapons. It was clear that those men were looking for her and that they did not want witnesses. They were bad men, just as bad as her Papa's, and would probably kill Joyce and Murray.

Why did they always hurt everyone around her? Her mind returned to the schoolyard. The moment when Jodie's friends beat Will because she challenged that girl. Eleven felt her stomach churn. Now it was the turn of Joyce and Murray simply because they were with her ... and she couldn't do anything to avoid it, could she? She didn't have powers, not at will. Her mind was a cluster of thoughts, she needed to think and fast. When had she been able to use her powers recently? Yes. She broke the bikes of Jodie's friends. How could she do it? What was different? Then her nightmares... In both moments she had felt distressed, angry.

Those men aimed their weapons at them as words echoed in her mind, it was her sister, Eight. 'Think about what makes you angry and use it.' Yes. The fuel of her powers must be that. Deep inside her brain, she tried to remember her papa again, back in the lab... but it wasn't useful, not anymore. Perhaps because it was a distant memory now. She tried again, this time when Jodie's friend hit Will... didn't work either. What's wrong with her!

Time was running out. The eyes of those men were impassive, hard as stone, as if that were normal as ... like that soldier, the one at the side of Hopper while they interrogated him. While they hurt him, Hop. Yes, they harmed him because of her. That image was still fresh in her mind. That raw screaming, unbearable pain. Her heart was tired of losing her friends. No more.

"No more!" She screamed as rage consumed her inside. The three men were thrown several meters back.

"Jesus Christ" Murray exclaimed, perplexed.

Joyce looked at Jones's car. The engine was still alive. Relieved, her breath came out in a rush. "Don't just stand there, run to the car!"

They didn't think twice. The woman climbed into the driver's seat and pressed the accelerator and the car shot off down the road. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw as the Russians began to get up, and got in the other vehicle. They were not going to escape so easily.

Murray looked behind from the back seat, next to Eleven. "Faster, Joyce!"

"I'm trying!"

The fatigue was taking its toll on the girl. Every time she used her powers, her body came to the point of exhaustion. But she must remain firm, they need her.

The other car was rapidly approaching them. The lights of the headlights getting closer.

"They'll catch us! Why is this piece of junk not running? Stop driving like a worried mother!" Bauman cried, clearly overwhelmed.

The car rammed them from behind, throwing her steering off. "Hold on!" Joyce cried while regaining control. She saw with concern as the Russian car began to overtake them on the left, getting to their own height. Joyce stepped on the accelerator to the bottom; if they passed them, they would cut their way.

Both cars were going at the same speed. The woman turned to look at the other driver. Jones was behind the wheel, smiling sarcastically. The spy took a sharp turn of the wheel, hitting them with his vehicle. The sparks came out of both car bodies.

Murray held onto the seat. "Fuck! He wants to kick us off the road!"

"Not if I kick him first." Joyce turned sharply to the left, hitting the other car, the wheels squeaked against the asphalt.

"What the hell are you doing, Joyce?!" Murray was now screaming.

El saw terrified how one of the Russians in the back seat lowered the window and pulled out a gun, ready to shoot. No, no, no! A feeling of overwhelm began to take hold of her. Her hands-on her temples, terrified of failing at that moment. She tried to return to the same scene of pain, the one that gave her strength, which made her resurface her powers from the depths of her heart. Hopper's pain. She saw him again, suffering in that room, the room ... the ceiling light flickering, the flash ... the entire room, illuminated for a few moments, the cry of pain ...

Murray saw astonished as the car of the Russians jumped through the air, and crashed into the road, rolling over behind them. "Holy shit!" He managed to say.

El collapsed in the back seat. The nose was dripping with blood. "Hawkins ..." she groaned.

Joyce looked at her in the rearview mirror. "Honey, are you okay?"

"Hawkins," El repeated, trying to speak louder.

"I think she's delirious," Murray observed as he caught her up. "Calm down. You're bleeding."

"No!" She protested, angry. "I remember the room, saw it, I was there..." her voice was losing strength, clearly exhausted. "Found him. Hop."

Without taking her eyes off the way, Joyce groped the glove box with her right hand, looking for a rag to stop El's bleeding, her fingers touched a gun. "Hold on, honey!" Finally, she picked up a cloth and threw it at the man.

"He's in Hawkins. Lab." El murmured with the last of her might.

The car slowed and stopped on the roadside. Joyce needed clarification of what her ears had just heard.

"She's fainted," Murray informed her as he tried to plug the girl's nose.

"Did you hear the same as I did?" She asked, worried.

"Yes. But that's impossible. It could be just a delirium of a girl that... is tired."

Joyce shocked her head, her eyes focused on the road ahead of them. "Repeat to me her exact words."

"You don't believe that Hopper is being held by the Russians in an American facility, right?"

"An abandoned American facility," She corrected.

"Exactly. It's closed, sealed, even walled up. Even the government wants to forget that the building even exists."

Joyce exhaled, her eyes focused on the road ahead of them. She was sure something was missing. "I don't know, Murray. Think about it. Alexei explained they had already tried to open the portal in Russia without success. The ideal place for this is Hawkins, everything began there."

"Yes, that's why they set up their base in Hawkins, using the mall as a cover."

"What if... after the fiasco, the Russians that remained continued with the experiment."

"Impossible. Its base was dismantled."

"Sure. But they could continue with another base that was already assembled. The laboratory. It's perfect. Who would think about it? No one would look for them there." Joyce turned on her seat to look at Bauman. "You said that the building had been boarded up. Could you tell me what's on the other side?"

Murray raised an eyebrow. "Joyce, it's the craziest, absurd and paranoid thing I've ever heard. But..." His voice paused for a long moment, and she could hear his uneven breathing. "I would believe you. Yes. But we need minimal proof that relates it to the Russians. I don't have it."

Joyce smiled. "I do. Look. There was a giant Russian thug who I thought was responsible for monitoring the Soviet facilities. Well... it's a long story, the thing is that Hop and I went to the lab, just to check a theory, and that thug was there, he even beat Hopper. Why would the Russians be watching the laboratory if they had no interest in it?"

Murray frowned, deep in thought. "Ok. I like it." He simply said, after all, he was the paranoiac man. A reasonable conspiracy conjecture was his cup of tea. "But. What do we do now?"

Joyce adjusted her hands on the steering wheel. "There are 90 miles to Hawkins, we've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes and a gun." Her fingers turn the ignition key, and the engine became alive. "We're going to rescue Hop."

**Comments are appreciated! And thank you for keep reading! ;)**


	9. An old friend

**It's been a long time since the last update; I'm so so sooo sorry but I've had a crazy busy week...**

**I want to thank you for your patience, your reviews and your messages. You're fantastic!**

**Special thanks to AnnieRavenclaw707, Sydmun17 for your comments and, of course, my fantastic beta-reader StrangerThanXsAnatomy :)**

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**Chapter 9: An old friend**

**.**

This time they had let Hopper rest for a full day. He was beginning to wonder if they had finally forgotten him, very naive on his part. It was evident that not in a million years that would happen, but being so long alone, locked in a cell gives you time to think a lot, too much.

Would they have obtained the information they were looking for? He thought about what Smirnoff, sorry, Smirnov had told him. Something happened in the last interrogation, something that scared the soldiers. He tried to remember, but it was useless. If they had said to him that a giant unicorn passed in front of him, he wouldn't remember either.

There was something about it, Smirnov had talked about the light, yes, a lamp exploding. He's seen it before. When El got angry, the lights got fun. Was it a coincidence? Don't be stupid, accidents do not exist. Would El be looking for him? He ran his hand over his face, that thought began to overwhelm him. Among all the people, she was the last one he wanted to look for him.

His mission as a father was to protect her, he had always done it or at least tried. Going for him was getting into the wolf's mouth. No, under no circumstances could He allow it. But what options did he have to prevent it? The only consolation to endure all that was to know that she was okay. He sighed. The door of his cell opened again. Two soldiers were waiting on the other side. One with a rifle and the other with handcuffs. Well, his time for meditation was over.

* * *

The Owens' agents soon began to search Bauman's house. The address the Byers had given him seemed correct. That could be absolutely the home of a lunatic, except that a cyclone appeared to have passed through it.

Everything was out of place, as if a squad of men had been rampaging and causing even more disorder. Owens sighed. He did not like being late to the sites and less when there was a damn Russian spy infiltrated in his organization. He was beginning to not trust even his shadow. Was Jones' case isolated, or would there be someone else?

"I want this mess clean as a whistle. Any clue to the whereabouts of Bauman and Mrs. Byers is important." He was beginning to have doubts that they could find nothing useful among that disorder.

Jonathan could not believe his eyes. He had been at Bauman's house before, along with Nancy, and although it seemed like the home of an eccentric the first time, that image far exceeded his expectations. He walked absorbed, watching as the agents took photos of everything they found. His feet collided with something on the floor. It was an Old Walkman, next to a notebook. He could not resist, all those things that were related to music nuts him. But he soon realized that the cassette did not contain any song.

"I think you should see this," he said, taking the Walkman. "It looks like a Russian recording or something. In this notebook is the transcript. Bauman must have translated it."

Owens looked at him in disbelief, "What the hell are you doing here, boy? I told you to wait in the car. This is not a damn game! It's dangerous, okay?"

Jonathan was displeased and almost seemed offended. "Do you want us to stay idly by? If it weren't for us, you would still be looking for Bauman's house. And fuck, it's our mother. We may not be cops, but at least we know we have no spies in our house."

Owens missed his stress ball, so he just looked away, cursing inwardly. He took Jonathan by the arm and without a word, took him out of the house.

"I told you to wait in the car with your brother, and that is what you will do."

"No! What are you doing? This is important." Jonathan reluctantly protested that he tried to get rid of the government agent.

"Hey! If you continue protesting, I will have no choice but to arrest you for contempt of authority, you understand that? And now to the car."

Jonathan reluctantly entered the car and was surprised to see that Owens also came and closed the door. "Damn. Byers! You can't go around telling the four winds that we have a spy inside, okay? Because they are never alone and I don't want to give the Russians more information, okay? Let's see, give me that…" He stated, taking the notebook and quickly reading the notes. As he moved along the lines, his expression was changing, worry took over his entire face. There was a word that changes everything: 'Eleven.'

"Shit ... "Owens murmured under his breath. "The Soviets have one of ours, it seems we have one more problem. God, we have no time for that." The federal's gaze was fixed in the older Byers boy. His face was pale as he removed the Walkman's headphones.

"Easy boy. I guess it's hard to hear this ..." Owens said, waving the notebook. "That's why I told you to wait in the car."

Jonathan looked at his brother and then at the other man. "It's not that. El was right. The whole time. The Russians have Hopper."

Will looked at both of them, trying to assimilate all the news. None looked back, and the silence took over the interior of the car. Then he dared to ask the question everyone wanted to avoid. "Where is mom and El?"

Owens sighed. It was going to be challenging to answer them; it seemed that their problems kept growing. "I want you to know that we are going to do our best to find them, all of them, okay?"

Jonathan crossed his arms skeptically. "And how do you intend to do it? You can't even speak in front of your men for fear of having another infiltrate."

Owens pointed a finger to the air. "Hey. I trust each and every one of my closest men, but if I start sowing doubts in front of them ... they wouldn't trust each other, and everything would go to hell, you know?"

Jonathan was about to respond as the car's radio came alive.

"Agent, 0365. I repeat, agent 0365, Philadelphia code. Do you copy?" A male voice roared over the comm.

The man rolled his eyes. That radio signal could only mean another problem, and his list of issues was already complete. However, he picked up the transmitter. "Here, 0365. Go ahead."

"Philadelphia code with antique chariot identification has been received. Should I continue?"

Owens closed the transmitter for a moment and looked at the boys occupying the rear seats. "It's the code I gave the chief for emergencies. I do not like this at all."

Jonathan anxiety was growing. "Do you think the Russians would have forced him to send a message? Is it a safe line?"

Will looked dumbfounded. "Stop being silly. If we don't listen to the message, we'll never know."

Owens reopened communication. "Proceed."

The voice rang again on the radio. "Message: The great red fox has hunted in the forest. Frogs are needed in the pond. End of the message."

Everyone looked at each other in disbelief.

* * *

They had passed through various halls, including several stairs. Those corridors were new for Hopper and in an area far away from his cell. He feared the worst. Smirnov had told him that now the Colonel wanted to know if he had powers. Stupid man. But giving him a full day to recover supported that hypothesis. He just needed to find out what idiocy the Russian guy had thought this time.

Whatever it was, He was very screwed. Or maybe, they got tired of him and were taking him outside to ... execute him. He gulped. All of his options were horrible. After a corridor that seemed infinite, they arrived at a new room. Inside it was another cell with bars. He didn't understand what they intended, although he supposed he was about to find out.

The soldiers led him into the cell, and one of them removed his handcuffs. Hopper massaged his wrists as he watched the door close behind him. Something wasn't right, that place seemed more like a cage than a cell. The soldiers remained outside, just staring. That was all?

"What. Do you like the show? Because in this case, it will be a bit boring."

"Oh ... I think not." A new figure approached the bars of his new cell. "Although the duration of the show will depend on you, Mr. Hopper."

"Oh, look who it is. Should I be surprised, Colonel?"

The Russian smiled. Too much for Hopper's taste. Oh shit... he was definitely in serious trouble.

"I wonder what you thought this time? Haven't these last days been entertaining enough for you?"

"Came on, Mr. Hopper, I thought you would be more grateful." Ivanov grinned, "If you don't like the treatment we give you, we may have to remind you where you come from."

Hopper raised an eyebrow, did not understand that. The Colonel snapped his fingers, and a soldier approached a crank. He began to turn it, and a mechanism started to squeak. The American followed with a look pulleys moving a chain that ran along the ceiling of his cell. His sight reached a door in the wall that began to rise.

"No way ..." He murmured under his breath. At that time, he thought that everything that had happened was a trifle compared to what was coming.

A beast crossed the door, and suddenly, he forgot how to breathe. It was a Demogorgon and seemed pissed off.

It soon searched the cell and turned to Hopper. "Jesus..." The monster lunged at him, and all he could do was protect himself with his arms.

After a few seconds, that seemed endless, nothing happened. Only the clink of a chain broke the silence.

Slowly Hopper withdrew his arms and watched as the Demogorgon writhed in the middle of the cell. A large iron chain attached to his neck prevented him from moving further. He quickly turned around, clinging to the bars of the cell.

"You bastard son of a bitch!" Hopper roared, facing the Colonel.

The military made a disapproving gesture "I don't think they are the most appropriate words in your situation, don't you think?"

Hopper hit the bars angrily. He couldn't believe his damn bad luck, so much hardship spent on the upside-down to end up devoured by one of those beasts simply because a damn lunatic had decided so.

He didn't even have the option to defend himself. His head leaned against one of the bars.

"What the hell do you want from me."

The Colonel smiled. "See? That's much better. I will tell you what will happen. When the crank turns again, the monster will catch you, and well, you know what comes next." Ivanov paused dramatically, he was undoubtedly enjoying that moment of despair. "So the only way you have to face it is ... using your powers if you have them."

Hopper laughed nervously. "Really? And what if I don't have them?"

"Well, in that case ..." Ivanov nodded to the Demogorgon, "Someone is going to have a good dinner today." The sound of the chains, moving non-stop, indicated that the beast must be hungry. Great.

"A pity." The Russian added, "We'll have to settle for ... Jane."

Hopper raised his head at the name of Eleven. The Colonel's eyes shone when he realized that he had touched a sore point.

"Oh, yes… ironic. The girl you have tried so hard to protect, isn't it? I admire your tenacity, really. Many would have been broken days ago, but not you." It was evident that he was enjoying that. "Don't worry, I will tell her that you endured until the end, I can also tell her soon as my agents bring her on the way here."

"You lie…"

The Russian moved closer to the bars. "Tell me, do you think Jane will endure as much as you?"

Hopper turned enraged, he preferred to see the beast that was about to swallow him than that bastard. In fact, the Demogorgon seemed even more human. All this time, the only thing that gave him strength was knowing that she was okay. He no longer cared about his imminent destiny, knowing that El was in danger, that the Russians had trapped her... just destroyed his hopes. Everything had been in vain. The logical thing was to feel depressed, but all he felt was anger, why him?

"Do you want me to tell her something?"

Hopper knew what the Colonel wanted. No. He was not going to give him that pleasure. "Go to hell!"

"You first." Ivanov pointed to the soldier who was holding the crank, and the chain mechanism turned again.

Yes, he was going to die, but what the hell. Do not go gentle into that good night.

The chain yielded, and the Demogorgon launched itself at him. Hopper shouted angrily if that beast was rabid, he was much more. He managed to dodge it, and the creature crashed into the bars. The Demogorgon turned back to him, opened his petal-shaped head, showing him all its teeth.

"Oh yeah? Do you think I'm going to wimp out? If you want fresh meat, you will have to hunt for it."

The beast gained momentum and throw itself against Hopper. He screamed in fury and discharged all his anger against the creature. His fist punched its head, throwing it back to the ground.

The adrenaline had helped him face that Demogorgon, but his body was too affected by the last days. He was panting tiredly. The Demogorgon stood up and showed him his claws.

"Oh, man ..." He muttered, knowing he couldn't take much more. That animal approached at high speed and tried to give him a blow that he could dodge, only to wince as his open wound in the abdomen protested the action and sent out a wave of pain. He lightly pressed down on his side as his body collapsed to the ground. In just a few seconds, the beast was upon him, and he could only interpose his forearm between that thing and him, only a few centimetres separated his face from those sharp teeth. It was a struggle that he couldn't win and finally gave in. He closed his eyes, hoping it would end quickly.

Disgusting breath passed his neck, next to something sticky and wet. Slime? Gross. His heart raced so fast that his chest began to hurt. Frightened, He opened one eye and saw the animal sniffing at him. Although he did not understand what was happening, he did not dare to move. The Demogorgon continued snooping, first his face, and then finally down to his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw how Russian soldiers approached the bars of the cell. They seemed as surprised as he was.

The Demogorgon sniffed the wound, perhaps the blood had caught his attention, but to everyone's surprise, the beast looked indifferently at his prey and ignored him, beginning to wander around the cell.

The Colonel said something in Russian. He didn't understand it but didn't care either. Hopper took a deep breath and stayed on the floor, oblivious to his surroundings. He was losing consciousness when his head began to spin, and his eyes began to blur. The sound of an alarm rumbled in the room. He heard it farther and farther, and then everything went black.

* * *

_In the meantime…_

Owens was astonished. "What the hell this means. Why would the chief send this message?"

Jonathan rummaged through his backpack while he talked. "Because it is not a message from Hopper. It's Bauman."

"Explain it."

"Yes, Bauman gave us a notebook to decode his messages, you know, he's quite… paranoid. I put it in my backpack, just in case."

Owens laughed in disbelief. "Seriously? Have you brought that? Fuck, you're a good journalist. Wait ... what's that? Don't tell me you've written down the coded, secret message in your notebook. That's a crime, kid."

"Does matters? Now we have it complete to be able to decipher it."

Owens made a gesture of disapproval. "Well, let's see if at least Bauman explains what the hell is going on here. Although it's good news, if they have been able to send that message, it means they have not been taken by the Russians, that's good."

Will seemed absorbed, his eyes were lost. "Not good."

Jonathan looked worried at his brother. "What's wrong?"

Will ran his hand across his neck, had goosebumps. "He's back. It's here." He turned, his eyes wide. "The mind flayer is here."

**I love plot twists! Yes, this one was crazy but I promise I'll explain it in the next chapter ;) Btw… Did you like it? :S**


	10. Underground

**I'm sorry for the long delay, but I'm back after all… and thank you for the reviews, they're great! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter too.**

**Note: English is not my first language and I don't have a Beta reader, so..., please, don't be mad with my grammar mistakes. (Btw if you want to beta this story just PM me, I'll be very very happy :) )**

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**CHAPTER 10: UNDERGROUND**

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They entered through the main door of the Hawkins Lab. Abandoned was the best adjective to describe this place as there was no sign of recent activity. The site remained the same, the passage of time and the lack of maintenance had accumulated dirt and dry leaves at the entrance. Even the door chain that Hopper had cut months ago was full of dust.

At least, this time wasn't raining. Oh, Joyce remembered that place too well... Definitely, she hated it. So many bad memories accumulated in one site. First, the visits with her son, Will. Then ... the loss of Bob. Joyce still had that image engraved on her retina. A quiet sound escaped the woman's throat, a choked of sob. Bob had deserved so much better... No, this time must be different. She had to find Hopper, and if anything was clear, she wasn't going to lose two men in the same place.

Eleven took her hand, trying to reassure her. "This way." She stated. It was apparent that she knew that place better than anyone.

Joyce nodded, amazed at the girl's willpower. After all, El would probably have worse memories of that damn place.

* * *

After endless corridors and stairs, they finally reached the room where once the portal was open. A large white wall walled up that room, forgetting the monstrosity that was there long ago.

Murray hit the surface several times, checking its strength. "This is pure concrete. I don't think there's anything on the other side, Joyce. And, to be honest, this building seems quite abandoned." His voice didn't hide his disappointment.

The woman shook her head, frustrated. "There has to be something." Joyce looked around, searching for clues of... anything. Just a few months ago, She had been there, with Hopper. Joyce could even remember their conversation. He had discovered her intentions to move out of Hawkins, How long has he known? She felt bad for not telling him because she feared he would take it badly; after all, it was Hopper. Not the most patient man in the town.

She thought that going far away could give her an opportunity to start a new life. How delusional. Nothing had been the same since then, and she was beginning to doubt that one day it would be. Yes, she had a new house and work. Still, her mind returned again and again to the events that occurred in Hawkins. No matter where she ran away, the problem was in her memories.

"There is nothing here." Murray declared, regretting having let himself be dragged there even knowing that it was an absurd idea.

"No, no, no. I know Hop is here. I could see him," El insisted, who began to spin around desperately, looking for something that was apparently invisible.

Joyce rubbed her face, concerned. Maybe they were wasting precious time because of a wrong hunch. She approached the old freight elevator, everything in that place had a patina of dust. She had to look for something out of place, something different.

"Oh, came on..." She begged tiredly. The way to get down there had been arduous enough. "Oh..." There was something that caught her attention."Look at this!"

"Ok." Murray came reluctantly, "It's an elevator."

"You don't see it? Really?" Murray shrugged, so Joyce continued, "How did we get down here?"

"Down the stairs." He simply said.

Joyce smiled. "Why didn't we get down in the elevator?"

"Because it didn't work...?" El was as perplexed as Bauman.

"Exactly. Nothing works in this building because it has no electricity. The question is ... Why this elevator has it?" Joyce asked as pressing the button that had less dust.

The doors opened, showing an interior entirely illuminated by a fluorescent.

Murray whistled excited by the find. "Very impressive. Now we just have to know where it is going."

Joyce entered the lift. "That's easy to find out. Came on."

Murray elevated his arms, gesturing sharply. "No! Don't we have to wait for the cavalry? We could end up captured, or worse!"

El entered the lift too. "No time for that!"

* * *

They didn't know exactly where they were going, but it took the lift at least a full minute to descend to a new underground level.

"It stopped. Are you sure you don't want to wait?!" Murray tried to make them reconsider one last time.

El sighed, exasperated, and opened the door. What they found at the entrance was completely unexpected.

"Holy shit..." The man murmured. They stepped into a corridor, an intermittent red light was making the sight difficult. It was an alarm. "They didn't know we are coming, did they?"

"It's not because of us." El pointed to a shadow on the floor.

Murray slowly approached it and regret doing so. "Oh god..." He said, pulling up his arm and covering his mouth, disgusted. A Russian soldier was lying on the ground, surrounded by a large pool of his own blood. "What the fuck has happened to him?"

El looked closed at the body, she seemed less affected than the two adults, whatever they think, she had to deal with scenes of this kind in her short life.

Murray swallowed before speaking. "It seems ... a wild animal?" The body presented various wounds, all of them with apparent signs of being eaten.

Joyce's gaze was fixed on the corridor. "There are more..." She pointed out to more corpses on the floor.

"Clearly, it wasn't a great idea to get down here." Murray was beginning to lose the little courage he had before seeing those bodies. "Maybe ... we should wait now. Or just go up again?"

"Stay here if you want. I'm going for Hop." El spoke decisively.

Suddenly they began to hear movement at the end of the hall. It was accelerated steps, moving closer. Joyce took out the gun she had taken from Jones' car, her hands were trembling. A figure appeared at the end of the corridor, the flashing alarm light prevented them from seeing it clearly but, whatever it was, was heading towards them at high speed.

El narrowed her eyes. It was a man, and he started to scream, in Russian.

"What is he saying?" Joyce asked, almost shouting too.

"He says ..." Murray started, pleading with his eyes to just go back. "Run."

The Russian approached them, he was gasping for breath, but his gaze was confused to see those three people just looking as doubtful as he was.

Clearly, the man was surprised to see them, then his sight met El's. Both opened their eyes wide.

"You!" Eleven exclaimed in a tone between indignation and anger.

The Russian stepped back, recognizing El too. The colonel had said they had found the Starcourt girl, and that they were bringing her on the way, but never said she would come alone, well, not exactly alone. But with a woman and a man with slippers? As if his day wasn't bad enough already. He shocked his head, doesn't have time for that. His mouth just babbled some words very fast in Russian and started to run to the lift.

Murray glanced at the confused look on Joyce's face. "He said that he doesn't care about us, and he'll just run away."

El frowned and lifted her hand. "No way!" The Russian's feet took off from the ground, and with surprise, he began to levitate.

"You are not going anywhere!" She moved her hand and throw the Russian against the nearest wall.

"Hey! Came on, What are you doing?" Murray said as the man growled on the floor. "You can't go throwing people out there for no reason."

El glared at him. "I have a very good reason." She approached the Russian with firm steps, "I saw you ..." The rage was evident in her words and fearing the worst, Murray got between the girl and the other man. "Hold, hold, hold. Ok, this man is an enemy of our country, ok, I got that. But We don't know what happened here, or do you plan to shoot first and ask later?"

Eleven waved her arms, frustrated, "I don't care what happened. This is the man I saw in the void, Smirnoff?. He was hurting Hop!"

Murray raised his eyebrow. "Ok. That's even better." He saw as the girl's face became angry, and immediately regretted his words. "No, no, not that way. Look, What I mean is that he knows Jim, and that signifies he can take us faster to where he is. So, what do you think if I talk to him and get some information?" His voice lowered, he wanted to calm the mood of the girl. Yes, it was a girl, but if she got cross, she could throw you through the air, in a painful way.

Eleven crossed her arms, obviously still angry, but Bauman was right; if he knew where Hopper was, it would be easier to find him. That base could be huge.

Murray was going to translate when the Russian started speaking in perfect English. "You don't understand. You can't go back. The base has been taken by hell dogs, all the comrades are dead!" He began to get quite nervous.

Joyce turned a blind eye to what she just heard. "We are looking for an American man, ok? Pretty big, I don't think he goes unnoticed."

"He already knows who he is," El told, keeping staring at Smirnov sharply.

He just smiled wearily. "What part of, everyone is dead, haven't you understood?"

Joyce began to get impatient. "Hey, we've been through hell to get here, now you're going to move your ass, and you're taking us to Hopper!"

Smirnov smirked incredulously. "What?! You're crazy! No way I'm going back there. I almost don't go out alive!"

"We don't have time for this! You can choose to come with us, now," Joyce pointed the gun at him. "Or not go anywhere."

Murray raised his hands, astonished for her sudden action. "Joyce, please. What the hell are you doing?"

The Russian looked at the gun barrel pointed at his head, and to everyone's surprise, he started laughing. Perhaps the bluff was too obvious. "You know what? I'd rather die like that than horribly devoured."

"I can protect you." El tried to change his mind, even if she didn't like him.

"Look, I don't want to disrespect you, but I don't think throwing hell dogs in the air is going to be enough."

El sighed, sparing a glance for something she could use."Ok." She raised her arm and began to look focused on a pipe in the wall. Her arm waved tightly, and the tube was torn off the wall, resulting in a leak of some kind of liquid.

Smirnov raised an eyebrow, although he didn't seem impressed. He had already seen her throw a car through the air in the Starcourt records. So she clenched her fist, and the pipe bent over several places, falling to the ground with a dry blow. What was once a perfect bar, was now a tangle of iron.

"Hopper. Now!" She ordered as her nose began to bleed.

"You're all crazy." The Russian stood up. "We're all going to die."

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**I know this chapter is very poor... but I promise the next one will be better ;) and... sooner xD Leave a review if you're interested :)**


	11. The promise

Thank you for all your support and comments! You're all fantastic! Really, you're very nice.

AnnieRavenclaw707: Thank you very much for your continuous support :)

Crazytime000: Woah... It will get even crazier! xD

**Note**: Please, excuse if there are imperfections in the English translation, for I'm not an English native speaker.

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**CHAPTER 11: The Promise**

.

They were walking through one of the seemingly endless corridors of the Russian base. Only emergency lights illuminated their way, keeping it dim. It was like a horror movie so they advanced cautiously, looking well where they stepped. None of them wanted to end up like the many bodies that they were finding along the way.

But considering the hostile environment, they were glad that so far they had encountered no beasts. Nothing. The silence was overwhelming.

"Where the hell are they?" Joyce wondered aloud.

"Do you want to know?" The Russian replied, gesturing to the right. "It's over here."

They moved to a new room, and a fresh corpse appeared on the floor, horribly mutilated.

"Oh! God!." Murray turned his head and nearly swore in shock, somehow managing to hide his dismay. "Every dead we found is worse than the previous one!" He had already spent the repertoire of adjectives to say how disgusted he was.

Smirnov scanned the room, noting a door that blocked the passage, it could only be accessed with an access card. "Shit." He sighed.

Joyce couldn't believe it. "You have no card? What kind of Soviet spy are you?"

"Hey, I'm not a spy, I'm a scientist," Smirnov flashed a teasing grin, in an arrogant fashion. "If you want to have access to everything, kidnap someone of a higher rank."

Murray rolled his eyes and then looked at the corpse on the floor. "Children…. Maybe this one works. And no," he declared, raising his hands. "I will not pick it up."

The Soviet man cursed in Russian while he took the card from the dead soldier's uniform; definitely, that was the worst post ever assigned to him!

The door opened with the card, but what was behind was something that Joyce didn't count on. "What the fuck is this?" On the other side of the gate was an arsenal full of Russian weapons and ammunition.

"Touch them and you're dead," Joyce warned, shifting her stance to something slightly more aggressive… that brought attention to the gun she was still holding. A damn enemy spy among them, and on top of it, armed? No way.

"Look," The man wasn't perhaps as intimidated as he should have been, so El narrowed her eyes, attentive to what could happen. "I think we had already passed the enemy-friend line a while ago, more or less when we set foot again at the base, infested with hungry creatures that don't distinguish between Russian or American meat. So... I will make it very clear, I am not going to the lower level unarmed." He stressed his words, "And I will give you a good reason. As you pointed out, we have not met any of those beasts."

"That's good, isn't it?" Murray asked nervously.

Smirnov lowered his head and sighed loudly, clearly irritated. "It means they are all down. How many bullets do you have in that revolver, six? You don't even have enough to start." He didn't wait to hear the answer when he turned on his heel and began to distribute assault rifles.

Joyce snorted desperately, among all the Russians who could have survived, only the most arrogant had. Incredible.

Murray shrugged as he held one of the weapons. "Well, maybe he's right."

Joyce shocked her head. "Can we please stop wasting time? Where will we go now, to the coffee machine?"

The Russian checked that the rifle was loaded and placed the weapon behind his back. "More than coffee rather Vodka."

"As well, I agree on that," Murray smirked.

"Do you two want a hotel room?" Joyce said, annoyed.

Smirnov looked back at her. "You should know that this... search, is useless. We still have a chance if we go back. Now."

"Shut up. That's not going to happen." She retorted.

"Came on, you all show the bodies. Your friend was hurt before all this mess started. I seriously doubt he would have been able to get away on his own in such a condition, and I even more highly doubt that there would be someone else willing to help him. More likely willing to kill him. And who knows how many more monsters are still running loose here..."

"Shut up!" Joyce demanded, trying to ignore the leap in her heart.

"Since you can't say it, I will. There's a quite high possibility that he is..." Smirnov stopped for a little moment, taking a deep breath, "already dead."

Those words were the last straw. El faced the Russian. "Listen to me. I refuse to believe he's dead, but if..." She shook her head to get rid of the negative thought. "I can't just leave him here. I will find him because I promised it. And a promise can't be broken. Do you hear me?"

Smirnov, tired of fighting the obvious, left the room, letting his caution down for a moment and failed to see what was on the corridor. He stopped dead as the others almost collided with him. "Woah."

At the end of the hall, a Demodog could be seen in the dim light. None dared to move, much less make noise. They held their breath, hoping that the beast would continue its way and not notice their presence.

At this range, even a blind man could have seen them, so the Demodog turned its head, looking directly at them.

Smirnov cursed in Russian, taking his rifle. The beast opened its petal-shaped mouth as a threat. The hungry roar took away El's debating time and she put herself between her friends and the animal, ready to confront it. But then, something unexpected happened. The creature closed its mouth and vanished, running down a nearby hallway.

"What the hell was that?" Murray asked hesitantly.

Smirnov's gaze was still fixed on the corridor. "We are four, maybe it is scared. We should go, it probably went to call reinforcements."

"No. The Demodogs don't get scared," El stated, a bit shocked.

"Maybe it has a full stomach. In case you haven't noticed, they have had a good feast."

El insisted dismissively. "Something has changed its mind. He knows we are here."

Joyce took the girl by the hand, she was beginning to remember the horror she had lived with her son Will. If they had learned anything was that those beasts were only pawns on a chessboard, they were controlled by something much higher. The boys called him, the Mind flyer. That Demodog, stopping its most basic impulses, was proof that the entity had returned, and was controlling them. But, what for? Nothing good for sure.

"He wants us to follow it," El concluded.

"What?!" Murray and the Russian said in unison, looking at the girl as if she had three eyes.

Joyce waved her arms in denial. "No, no, no! Clearly, it's a trap!"

"We don't know!" El protested.

"What? That thing just wants to kill us all!" Joyce argued, unbelieving the girl didn't listen to reason.

"If he wanted to kill us, he would have tried it on the first occasion, as soon as that Demodog saw us. He wants something else." El shot back sharply.

"Stop it! Now!" Murray intervened, trying to make some points. "Clearly, we need to make a plan."

The girl pulled up her sleeves with resolution. She was tired of hiding and wanted to end that once and for all. "I already have a plan, follow it. If you want to come, perfect. If not, you can stay here." She headed down the hall where the beast had disappeared.

The Russian looked at Joyce. "Can I stay?"

She rolled her eyes. "No!"

* * *

The Demodog had left a relatively easy trail to follow, it seemed that El was right, that thing wanted to be followed. Where? It was not so obvious, all they knew was that they were on the lower level and that the way was being too long. One thing was evident, the Russian seemed quite worried as they advanced.

"Ok. Spit it out. Where are we?" Asked Murray, knowing that the other man knew something they ignored.

"This is the last door, and it leads to... to the wolf's mouth." He trailed off, fighting the panic he felt building in his chest. "We shouldn't come here."

El glanced at the last door, unable to suppress her irritation. "What is on the other side?"

"The rift." He confessed, extremely worried. "We have not encountered more hell dogs, that means they are all in here. Waiting for us, I guess."

* * *

Cautiously, El touched the metallic surface lightly with the fingers, pushing it slightly, slowly opening the door with a creaking sound...

A bright orange light welcomed them as they entered the final room. It was huge. The Russians had managed to build a new laboratory, and that place was the crown jewel. It didn't look as sophisticated as Starcourt's one, but it certainly did its job. A new machine, smaller but active, was shooting a ray of light toward the crack, keeping a new portal open. Wasn't anyone going to learn that opening portals were a terrible idea?

The room was divided into two parts, the upper area, where they had entered, and a flight of stairs linked to the lower zone. To everyone's shock, it was infested with Demodogs.

"I knew it," Smirnov hissed uneasily, he didn't want to count them, but there were more than ten of those beasts hanging around.

They crouched silently behind some tables with machines, trying to go unnoticed.

"And now what do we do?" Murray asked.

"You have to turn off the machine, if we close the portal, the Demodogs will lose the connection and die," Joyce said decisively, regretting knowing so much about the topic.

"But this machine is new, I don't know how to turn it off without causing an explosion with us inside." Murray glanced at the Russian man, it was clear that they needed help.

"I do," Smirnov answered, not knowing how he had reached that situation, it only been a few hours since he breakfasted peacefully! "But I will need a distraction."

"How?!" Murray looked back at the Demodogs, trying to find a way to distract them, but something attracted his attention. "What is that?"

Joyce turned her gaze to the lower level. "What? ... there is someone down there."

"It's a man. But what it does? He is just standing there."

"Hop," El stated, amazed.

Everyone turned around, trying to sharpen their sights, and indeed, there was Hopper, surrounded by Demodogs. But there was something odd about it all.

"Why is he standing there like nothing? And why the hell dogs are so calm without attacking him?" Questioned Smirnov, who at that time was the only one who seemed less affected.

"I have to rescue him." Eleven replied, starting to get up.

Joyce grabbed the girl's wrist. "No, wait."

El got rid of the woman's grip and glanced at the Russian. "Be ready to turn off the machine. I'll distract them." She looked back at Joyce. "You stay here. I'm going for him."

Joyce could not stop her, who left with determined steps towards the lower level.

* * *

The girl soon covered the distance until her feet reached the portal zone. She was surprised to see that the Demodogs just looked at her, none had made any gesture of attacking her. Why not? It didn't matter much, she was only a few yards away from Hopper, who was still impassive looking at the portal.

The sight left her speechless at first, unable to move. At last, she had found him, after so much time. Tears surfaced on her face, her mouth couldn't stop smiling, too many emotions contained.

"Hop?" Her voice called cautiously. If it weren't for those beasts, she would have rushed to hug him.

"I knew that, eventually, you would come." He spoke, turning around to face her. Something was wrong. Hopper's face doesn't reflect any hint of emotion. It didn't have any sense. He was a hot-blooded man who cannot hide his feelings, you can always tell if he was annoyed, happy, or even hungry. Wasn't he glad to see her? Was he angry? No. When Hopper got angry, everyone found out for sure. And then, she looked at those eyes, cold as ice, glaring at her with indifference.

Her whole world collapsed instantly. "No..." She murmured. "Please, not you," Her voice cracked as soon as she realized that she wasn't looking at Hopper, but at the Mind Flayer inside him.

**To be continued.**

**So… what do you think would happen next? Please, let me know your thoughts on this : )**


	12. The reckoning

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* * *

_"I knew that, eventually, you would come." He spoke, turning around to face her. Something was wrong. Hopper's face doesn't reflect any hint of emotion. It didn't have any sense. He was a hot-blooded man who cannot hide his feelings, you can always tell if he was annoyed, happy, or even hungry. Wasn't he glad to see her? Was he angry? No. When Hopper got angry, everyone found out for sure. And then, she looked at those eyes, cold as ice, glaring at her with indifference._

_Her whole world collapsed instantly. "No..." She murmured. "Please, not you," Her voice cracked as soon as she realized that she wasn't looking at Hopper, but at the Mind Flayer inside him._

* * *

**Chapter 12: The reckoning.**

.

The man approached El slowly, while the Demodogs moved out of his way like fully-trained beasts obeying their master. She watched as the creatures stood behind her, blocking any escape.

El didn't consider running away; she wasn't going to leave. Not without doing what she came to do: rescue Hopper. There was no plan in her head, she didn't even know if her dad was still in there, or if it wasn't too late already, but she had to at least try.

Hopper stood in front of her. Barely a yard separated them. They looked at each other silently, each of them trying to find the weaknesses of the opposite. She put her chin up and tried to stiffen her upper lip, although it was so hard to face someone so dear to her. She swallowed and noted that he was battered, even injured. Some bandages could be seen from underneath his clothes, trying to hide a nasty wound on his side. Around it, dark black venous ramifications. She had seen that before, with Billy.

"Human memories are very exaggerated. You are smaller and insignificant than he has made me believe."

El clenched her jaw. It was repulsive to think that this thing had access to Hopper's mind. Although it might mean that, somehow, he was still in there.

"You are looking for the wrong memories. Maybe you should check yours. Surely you remember me, and what I can do. Tell me, did it sting you?" Her gaze narrowed, trying to intimidate him. "Get out of Hopper. Now."

His face remained impassive, although, for a second, she thought she saw the shadow of a smile. "Despite your bravado, I know you wouldn't be able to hurt him. I guess I've chosen well this sack of bones and flesh."

El swallowed. That thing was right. How was she going to fight him without hurting Hopper? Would she be able to... stop him if it came to it? If she had to? If there was no other option?

She had to think about something and fast. Ok. That thing, at the moment, wasn't trying to kill her, and it seemed willing to talk. So they will talk.

"Why are we here?" She asked after a while of silence, with an obvious bitterness in her voice.

Hop's blue eyes glared at her. "I've done you two favors."

She could feel the coldness in his voice, but that part caught El's curiosity. "Sorry, What?"

"I have cleared your way here," Hopper stated in annoyance.

She looked at him, confused, and then realized what he meant. For that thing, clearing the path meant killing all the Russians from the base. Not that she had any sympathy for those bad men, but it was disturbing to think that this creature was willing to kill simply for something as absurd as that.

"And ... the second favor?" El asked, unsure of wanting to know the answer.

For the first time since she had seen him again, a small hint of emotion appeared on his face. This time he was smirking. "I've kept him alive." His tone was dark but firm, knowing he was in charge of the situation.

She didn't answer, but she didn't need to. Her eyes betrayed her, telling that thing she wasn't just scared. She was utterly terrified.

"Now, you must return the favor." He continued, as he made a step toward her.

Eleven looked away. It was unbearable to stare at that thing and see Hopper's face.

He was asking her a favor? Could it be more surreal? What could that thing wants when all it had tried in the past was to kill her?

Even losing her powers months ago was the fault of that monster. It had gotten inside El's leg ... that memory made her shiver.

"What do you want?" She replied, trying to compose herself.

Hopper turned silently toward the portal. The intense orange light made his inexpressive features sharper.

"The connection between our worlds is weak, unstable. I can't cross it completely. A fragment of me could get here in this… body," Hop complained, disgusted. "But that is not enough."

He turned back to eleven, studying her carefully. "You can expand it, make a perfect and stable connection between worlds. And I…" He advanced the last step that separated them, making her go back. "I will be able to reach this world ..."

A fragment of him had slaughtered all the Russians, commanded a dozen Demodogs, and possessed Hop. El didn't want to imagine what he could do if he managed to get his whole entity to cross the portal. That could never happen.

"I can't do that." She spoke aloud, more to herself than to him.

Hopper chuckled at that. "Yes, you can."

"But I don't want to," She looked around desperately as she felt a strange awareness.

"This is something inevitable. This won't be the last portal, and you know that. You can fight whatever you want, but in the end, you can't win over something you can't comprehend. I will always come back, and you can do nothing about it." His voice became more profound, "If you don't do it..."

"Then what?" She spatted back.

He kneeled down, making eye contact with her. "I will kill him."

Her pulse accelerated. She knew that was not a bluff. That thing would kill Hopper if she didn't obey it, but she couldn't do what it had asked, could she? It was a dead end.

El was weighing her options. At that time, the portal was the least of her worries, as he had just confessed, it was not stable enough for him to pass, so the main priority was to get him out of Hopper's body. How could she do it? The heat was a weapon against that thing, that's how they expelled it from Will in the past. But in that room, there wasn't anything that could help her with that. Then she thought about when that creature tried with her. As a leech, had gotten into her leg, the wound was horrible, as horrible as ... no, that was not going to work.

Discovering that Hopper was still alive had given her the strength to locate him. She promised that she would find him and fulfilled it. A promise is something you cannot break, right? But she never thought that she would see him like that, much less that she was about to lose him again, this time forever.

Her mind could not stop blaming herself, she was the one who opened the portal for the first time and was now paying the consequences.

She looked Hopper in the eye. "Hop…" She started, "I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm going to break our rule." Tears began to flow, "I'm going to be stupid, and…" Her lips were trembling, sobbing, unable to raise her voice. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

Her arm raised with resolution pointed at him. The rage was evident on her face, she had to put an end to it once and for all, she would take out that creature just as she pulled it off his leg months ago. With much pain and agony.

Hopper put his hand to his side, the venous branches concentrated around the wound. "No!" He screamed furiously. "You won't" With an amount of enormous force, his other hand grabbed her neck with a tight grip, bringing her towards him. "If you are not going to cooperate, I will not allow you to get in my way." He stood up and Eleven noticed her feet peel off the ground as the pressure increased in her throat, preventing her from breathing. "I will be able to stabilize the portal with or without you."

The air whooshed out of her lungs as she latched on to Hopper's wrist. His death grip on her neck wouldn't budge as her legs waved on the air, trying to hit him. Her struggle only made that thing's fury flare. As his grip tightened even further, all she could do was stare into the cold, empty eyes of Hopper, which hurt her even more.

"H..." With the little oxygen left in her lungs, she tried to say a few last words. "Help..." There was no point in struggling anymore, hot sticky tears began to slide down her cheeks. "...me."

"How pathetic."

Suddenly, the hand that was holding his wound moved to grab the other wrist, trying to release Elven. That action caused the pressure on her neck to decrease slightly.

"Stupid human. You can't stop this. Another daughter dying in your arms."

His cruel demeanour raised her boiler to max pressure until she was ready to explode. With the last of her might, she waved her arm at him, throwing him back as she fell to the floor, gasping for air.

She regained enough consciousness to see him recover and charge towards her again. She had to end that, one way or another.

El raised her arm, drops of blood fell down her nose. With her powers, fueled by the wrath against that thing, she managed to keep Hopper root in place.

He narrowed his eyes, and quickly, all of the Demodogs responded to his command. One of them jumped to El, ready to nail its claws on her. A dry detonation resonated, along with a cry of pain from the animal. It fell to the ground, writhing.

The girl looked up, Murray was reloading his fusil as Joyce shot another Demodog down. "Just do your stuff!" He urged, aiming at her position.

El concentrated on Hopper, fixing her gaze on him. "Get out of him!" With her other hand, she focused on his wound, trying to ignore the bullets that were flying around her.

He screamed in agony as something moved inside him, next to his wound, which was darkening even more. "You fool. If you get me out of him," He spoke through gritted teeth. "He will die!"

She screeched, ignoring her tiredness, growing as her ears started to bleed too. An intense black shadow began to emerge from Hop's now wide-open wound, contorting into a small swirl of dark smoke under El's grip. It tried to resist, but she didn't hesitate, with all her powers, she threw it through the portal, regardless of the consequences.

"Shut it down, NOW!" Joyce ordered Smirnov, who was on the machines' controls.

The beam of light stopped immediately, and almost at the same time, the wall rift began to close, making the orange glow disappear. The Demodogs stopped their attack, contorting and falling down like dominoes, one after another, dying after losing connection with their world.

El breathed relieved as she dropped to her knees, unable to stand still. Her body was shaking from overexertion as tears of happiness fell back on her face. She couldn't believe it was over, at last.

Hurried steps approached behind her. "Oh my God..." Murray's voice seemed worried. "No, no, hell, no!"

El turned around, just to see Hopper lying on the ground, motionless. Murray knelt beside him almost at the same time that Joyce came running. "Fuck, he's bleeding. What ... what do we do!"

Joyce gave a little pat on his cheek, trying to wake him up. "Hop came on, Hop..." She stopped, pale as a ghost. "Oh, my God... He's not breathing."

El was petrified. For a moment, her mind collapsed, unable to keep up under pressure, to think straight, to accept that he might be actually dead. Just as the mind flayer had warned her, that was his reckoning.

**To be continued.**

**Comments are appreciated! And thank you for keep reading! ;)**


	13. Don't you dare

**Hi all! I'm back, not as soon as I expected but hey, I have to deal with... things? Anyway, thanks for your support!**

**I want to thank AnnieRavenclaw707 for being a lovable beta-reader! Thank you for making this update possible ;) **

* * *

**Chapter 13: Don't you dare.**

.

Joyce cupped Hopper's head into her hands. "Came on, came on," Her fingers felt his cold skin and Full-fledged panic gripped her now "Stay with us, Hop,"

Her mind could not process that moment was real. Distant voices echoed in the place, but none of them seemed to say a coherent message, she couldn't concentrate. Not seeing how Hopper's face was getting paler. Then, she realized with horror that he was dying in her arms. That could not be happening to him, not after everything he had been through.

"Don't you dare to die on me, Hop. Don't you dare!" Joyce cried holding him close, her tears streaming down her face. She looked away, but what she found was even more devastating. Murray was holding his jacket on Hopper's stomach. It was a battered mess of fabric, completely soaked in blood.

He was dying and she didn't know how to help him. A wave of panic surged inside Joyce, almost choking her. It was the most miserable moment of her life. Her heart started racing, high and fast. There must be something she could do. Suddenly, a hand grabbed her shoulder, and she gasped scared.

Smirnov was at her side, "You," he pointed to Murray. "You're doing it wrong. Press hard. Bleeding must be stopped at all costs." Then he rolled up his own sleeves. "And you, it's important that you do what I tell you."

Joyce nodded without hesitation, forgetting everything else.

"I want you to take his chin and hold his head back."

Joyce obeyed as her gaze watched as Smirnov placed one hand on top of the other and laced his fingers together, pressing down firmly and pumping Hop's chest. He was mumbling words in Russian that Joyce didn't understand. It seemed he was counting, concentrated.

"Check his pulse." He ordered, focused on his task.

She wiped her tears and put her trembling fingers on his neck. "I... I can't find any." She responded distraughtly.

"Focus. Compress the nose and breathe air five times."

She pinched his nose and softly joined her lips with his, breathing five quick breathes into his mouth until she saw his chest rising. _Please, don't surrender, not here, not now._ It was all She could think about.

Smirnov continued with the compression maneuver and began to sweat from the effort. "Again."

Fifteen compressions and five more breaths. Joyce checked his pulse. Nothing. Compressions, breaths. No working. She repeated the process all over again, and this time when her lips touched his, she could feel that he was getting colder.

"You're going to be an asshole until the end, huh? Came on, guy, do you think I can be doing this all the fucking day?!" Smirnov retorted as he intensified his compressions. "Again!"

Joyce saw helplessly how the body was shaken again and again… Every time she saw that her own heart sank. She looked away, miserable, and ashamed at the same time.

"Came on!" Smirnov slammed his fist against his sternum.

Joyce couldn't witness that anymore. The contents of her stomach rising in her throat. "Just stop..." She begged, unable to handle the emotional pain she was feeling.

"Don't be a jerk!" The fist of the Russian hit Hopper's chest again, and the miracle happened.

His body shook, coming out of a stupor, and he gasped desperately for air.

"Hopper! Oh, my God!" Joyce's face was a mix of emotions, surprise, happiness, but most of all, relief. "It's ok, Hop, it's ok. That's good, breath!"

He coughed several times, trying hard to fill his lungs. She quickly held his head in her lap and eased any discomfort he may have been feeling. "Breathe in, that's it…" She checked again his pulse, pressing her fingers against his neck. It was irregular, but at least his heart was beating again. "That's it. You're doing great."

His eyes were looking around without seeing, confused, disoriented. Joyce could tell the pain reflected in his gaze. "Easy Hop. Everything is going to be ok." She tried to reassure him, but it was evident that he was barely aware of where he was or what was happening to him.

Suddenly, a pair of hands placed an oxygen mask on his face. "What?!" She looked up and saw a man dressed in a military tactical uniform. Joyce was confused. She had been so busy with Hopper that she hadn't realized they were surrounded.

Arms grabbed her from behind, lifting her away from Hopper. "No!" She shouted, trying to get out of those guys. Her gaze looked around, there were soldiers everywhere. "Let me go, bastards!" She growled angrily.

"Joyce, Joyce! Calm down. " Spoke a well-known voice. She turned to face Owens next to her. Her mind tried to process the new situation quickly. She watched as two soldiers were handcuffing Smirnov, while another one spoke with Murray.

"Tell your bloody orangutans to release me." Her voice orderer angrily.

"Joyce..."

"NOW!"

Owens nodded to the soldiers, and they let her go. She did not lose a second and headed towards Hopper, but Owens got in her way. "Hey, uh… hey, I know you're worried, but the chief needs medical attention. They'll take care of him."

She watched helplessly as several men lifted Hopper's body to a stretcher. "Are you kidding me?"

"Joyce, Joyce... look at me, ok?" Owens lowered his voice. He was trying to get her full attention and calm her down at the same time. Clearly, she was losing control of herself. "If you want to help him, just take care of his daughter."

Those words had an effect on her. Eleven. How could she have forgotten her? Joyce looked for her among that crowd. Then she saw her own children and felt a great relief that cannot be described in words. She still didn't know how they got there or what they did with Owens, but the important thing is that they were safe, and they were hugging El, comforting her. Good boys.

* * *

The wait was being exhausting. Time was going too slow, and they had not gotten any sleep for more than a day with everything that had happened. Jonathan and Will were asleep on a couch in the waiting room, but El couldn't sleep. Yes, she was tired but anxiety and doubt prevented her from even thinking about taking a nap.

Eleven watched Joyce pacing around like a jackrabbit. She had even smoked a couple of cigarettes. It was awkward. She only smoked when she was nervous or worried about something. El didn't quite understand why, once she stole a cigarette from Hopper, just out of curiosity, and those things were disgusting.

So many questions in her head. They had spoken many words she didn't understand, and no one had wanted to clarify. The dictionary from the cabin would have been useful.

Surely in the book was the meaning of words like operating room, transfusion or surgery. She didn't know what they meant, but she supposed it must have been bad things.

Joyce ended up sitting next to her. "Try to sleep, I will wake you up if there is news."

El denied with her head. "No. I'd rather wait. I'll sleep when I make sure he's ok."

Joyce rubbed her forehead, exhausted. She had no intention of arguing with El. The girl was stubborn as a mule. But they had had too many sleepless hours. She didn't understand why they took so long. Her mind couldn't stop thinking about the worst, maybe Hopper's operation had complications. "Oh, God ..." She muttered to herself.

"It was very cold," El stated suddenly.

Joyce frowned. "If you need it, I can ask for a blanket."

"No." El looked down at her hands and, for the first time in recent days, she smiled sadly. "On the seventh day since I escaped the Upside-Down. The night Hopper took me in." She clarified. "He knew that I was in the woods. He left me food, even eggos. And that night… it was very cold." She laced her hands, perhaps reliving that memory. "It was a very long night. I didn't trust him, so I couldn't sleep. It was the longest day of my life. Until today."

Joyce had no idea how those two had ended up forming a strange little family. Hopper never told her anything about that, he could certainly be very hermetic. For God's sake, he had been pretending for a whole year hiding her. "Oh, honey ..." Joyce put her arm over the girl's shoulder, thoughtfully. She supposed it was not an easy night for either of them. "You know? It's odd."

"What is it?"

"I spent the two longest nights of my life with Hopper, too."

El turned to look at her, curious, so Joyce looked at her children, sleeping on the couch opposite. "Hopper was with me the night we found Will in the Upside-Down. He evidently did his police work, but ... I am grateful for that damn night…"

The girl nodded. That was a very long night for everyone, although it was obvious that for Joyce it was even more. "And what's the second night?"

"Well, it was many years ago ..." The woman smiled. "We were invited to a party."

El raised her eyebrow. "Hop? At a party?"

"Sure! Why not?"

"Because, you know, Hop is boring. He hates parties."

Joyce laughed, she couldn't believe her ears. "Well, He was always invited to all parties. I guess being the captain of the high school soccer team would have something to do with that."

"Oh," El smirked, that definitely didn't sound like Hop.

Joyce sighed. "Well, I guess that over the years, we became boring."

"And what happen, that night?"

"Oh, yes. The idiot Tom Anderson, along with the even bigger idiot, Jim Hopper thought that a party without alcohol was not a party. So the two cretins stole some boxes of beer from Mr. Wilson's shop."

"He stole?" El asked, almost scandalized. "But he's a policeman!" That wasn't the Hopper she knew. "And why did he steal it? Didn't he has money?"

Joyce was still laughing. "Well, as you know, minors can't buy alcohol. I told you it was a long time ago. I think we were only one or two years older than you." Then she realized that maybe she shouldn't have told that story. "Which doesn't mean you can steal. Stealing is wrong." She spoke, trying to get into mother-mode. "And drink alcohol too."

Too late. El had changed her position on the chair. The anecdote began to interest her. "And why was it a long night?"

"Sorry, What?" Joyce began to regret it.

"Yes, you said it was a long night with Hop, what happened after that?"

"Oh, nothing important. Just... nonsense, you know." She faked a laugh, downplaying the significance of the story.

El raised an eyebrow, but when she was about to ask Joyce, steps made them stop the conversation.

Owens entered the hall and they got up almost immediately.

Joyce was the first to speak. "How is he?" The anxiety was evident in her voice.

The man looked uneasy. "We need to talk. But not here." He said, pointing at the boys who were still sleeping on the couch. "To my office."

"But, Can I see him?" El asked, the worry was written all over her face.

Owens exhaled deeply while deciding what to answer.

To be continued.

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	14. Don't cry, kid

**I want to thank all of you for your patience, your reviews, and your messages. You're fantastic!**

**I also want to thank AnnieRavenclaw707 my new beta reader, who is doing a great job! Thank you for your patience!**

* * *

**Chapter 14: Don't cry, kid. **

.

Owens and Joyce had left. It was clear that the doctor had something important to tell them, and for some strange reason, he wanted to do it alone in his office. Whatever it was, it could wait for El.

The only place she wanted to be at that moment was there. Together with Hopper. Nothing else mattered.

However, she was still worried. Was it all over at last? Owens wasn't so sure about it. That's why it was incredibly hot in that room. He said it was a way to make sure if that thing wasn't still inside Hopper. The sleeves of El's shirt were rolled up and she still felt drops of sweat falling down her face. The doctor was cautious, he said that thing was learning to adapt to our atmosphere, but that was excessive. If she threw an egg on the floor she was sure it would fry.

At the Russian base, she had not been able to notice the consequences that the last months had had for him. She had been far too busy dealing with the Mind Flyer to observe him closely. A shiver ran down her spine, that had been one of the worst experiences of her life. She wondered what was worse, seeing Hop possessed by that being, capable of everything, even hurting her, or seeing him like that- so emaciated, such a shadow of the great man he had been.

He was very thin and tremendously beaten. Bruises of different colors, some newer than others, decorated much of his battered body. A big gauze covered a large part of his chest. The doctor had talked about suture stitches. It sounded really weird. And scary. El whispered silent pleas for him to wake up as she watched him.

Her arms leaned on the footboard of the bed as an exasperated sigh escaped her lips. Time is so slow when silence is your only companion. Only the sound of the monitors, measuring his vital signs, broke the silence. El wanted to do something, anything that could help him, but the doctor made it clear that all they could do was wait for him to wake up.

"I hate waiting. You should know that already," The girl stated aloud, remembering her life in the cabin, waiting for him and throwing her anger every time he was late, which ended up being something usual. It was almost fun to see what excuse was invented every day. One day he told her he was two hours late because he had to throw a bat out of Mrs. Harris's house. A bat, seriously? And for two hours! Many times she pretended to be outraged, he knew it, but still, she always got more Eggos for dessert. A weak smile appeared on her lips.

"These months, I've missed your excuses." The girl confessed. "And I've missed a lot of Miami Vice. Maybe this Friday we can see one." She spoke with false hope, knowing full well it was too early for that. "It will be fun, I promise." She got no response, the monitors kept making the same noise. Some beeps that at least indicated that Hopper was still alive. Every single one of them signified another second Hopper didn't wake up.

She approached the side of the bed. Owens had forbidden her to be near Hopper or touch anything, but, the doctor wasn't there, right? "Ok. Let's make a deal." She patted Hop's limp hand.

"I take care of popcorns and beer. But in return, you just have to wake up and stay here. I think it's easy. You win with the deal. But only for this time, ok?"

* * *

Owens closed the door and pointed to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Joyce shook her head and instead of sitting down she grabbed the back of the chair. "Would you mind stop being so mysterious, and just tell me what the hell is happening?" Her face didn't hide her annoyance.

"I'm sorry, but since there is a certain security problem right now..."

"You mean another possible agent Jones?" The woman crossed her arms. She already knew all that, even before him, so it wasn't the time to mess with her.

"Well, yes. But I think it's just an isolated case. No need to worry."

"Of course not," Joyce snorted, "That's why you dragged me to your office, to not speak in front of anyone. Just in case you have some unwanted ears."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Hey, I'm just discreet. Besides, the important thing now is the chief, right?"

Joyce sighed and finally sat on the chair, or rather, she dropped on it. Her hand rubbed her face, she was tired, everyone was. "How is he? And I want the truth, not the sweetened version you've told Jane."

Owens glanced at his table for his anti-stress ball, he was going to need it. "Everything I've said is true. He has lost a lot of blood and..." he trailed off as Joyce tensed, so he cleared his throat and changed his tone trying his best to sound confident. "He is a tough guy. Physically, he will recover."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Why do you keep saying that ... physically."

"Well, I can't assume anything for sure. As I have explained before, we have to wait. But we also have to prepare for the worst, for what may happen," Without realizing it, he squeezed the anti-stress ball. A gesture that did not go unnoticed by Joyce. "While operating the chief, I had a very interesting conversation with our mutual friend, the Russian guy."

"Smirnov?" To say she was not surprised would be a lie. How could she forget him?

"Now that he has nowhere to go, he is collaborating a lot, and, he has told us many things, including what they have been doing with the chief these last three weeks," Owens looked away, hesitant. "Believe me, it's better if I save you the details."

Joyce felt a stomachache. She remembered perfectly well the interrogation they had heard at Murray's house. Oh, God. Suffering that torture for how long ... three weeks? No. It couldn't be. "No way. Hopper has been missing for four months. Did the Russians only have him for three weeks? Where had he been before?"

"Now we get to that part. According to Smirnov, Hopper came through the portal, from the other side."

"Holy shit," Joyce got up from the chair, she didn't even know what to do with her hands, so she took out the pack of cigarettes from her shirt's pocket. "Fuck," On the third attempt she could lit one, definitely in need of fresh air, her feet went to the nearest window.

Hopper had been in the Upside-Down for three damn, ridiculous, months. She could not believe it. Her son was there less than a week and the consequences were terrible. Nightmares, fear of anything. He had been so on-edge that even the slightest sound made him jump. Not to mention the thing that stayed inside him. She puffed on the cigar with shaking hands.

Will was indeed only a child, but even for an adult, three months? She repeated herself in disbelief. For not adding what the Russians later did with him, as if having spent three damn months in hell was not enough punishment for a man.

Owens pulled her out of her thoughts. "Our priority now is to check his psychological state and make sure that thing is gone for good. We have to do some tests."

Joyce frowned, she didn't like those words. "What kind of tests?"

* * *

The hum of the monitors began to accelerate. Something was happening.

"Hop?" El called him when she saw that his heart rate quickened for no apparent reason. He was taking short wild breaths, his face soaked with sweat. She could have thought it was the heat, but he looked haunted.

She took him by the shoulders and shook him a little, trying to wake him from what looked like an awful nightmare. "Hop!"

His head twitched, then his eyes cracked open. He groaned and shut them again to keep out the painful light. It took almost a whole minute to open them again, and even then, his pupils took time to adjust to the brightness.

She waited patiently for him to finish waking up and soon found herself looking into a pair of confused blue eyes.

"Wh…." The words didn't come out easily. His tongue was dry. Hurriedly, she held a glass of water to his lips and lifted his head to help him drink.

"Easy," she said and felt as if she'd achieved a major accomplishment when she got him to drink several swallows. Then she placed his head back into the pillow while her fingers stroked his shoulder, softly, waiting for him to say something.

"El?" he finally asked with a sore voice, that she could hardly recognize.

"Yeah, it's me." She beamed, feeling a great relief to see that at least he recognized her. It was the first step.

"H... How?"

It was painful to see him so alienated. She tried, by all means, to suppress her enormous desire to hug him, she wanted to do it so badly, but first, she still needed to know if that man was the real Hopper. Her real father. The one she missed and cried out for in sleep every day for months.

Hopper glanced around and then opened his mind to try and recall where the hell he was. It wasn't going to be an easy task, his body felt exhausted and didn't even know why. Since when were the lights so bright?

El hesitated. Words had never been her strong point, it was always Hopper who led all the conversations, sometimes, especially at the beginning of their relationship, his monologues were the usual thing in the cabin. She didn't care, she learned from them, but now their papers had changed. It didn't help that her mouth was dry from shock and happiness.

"You are safe. We are at the base of Dr. Owens." She tried to sound convincing but didn't seem to get the desired effect. He looked so exhausted, she wasn't even sure he had heard her. "You should rest." She advised.

"No," He said with more force this time.

Ok. She thought. He was actually listening. "Why not?"

He remained silent until he got all serious. "This is the best dream I've had lately, I don't want it to end."

For a moment she was shocked by his words. "This is not a dream, Hop."

"Yes, that's what I usually repeat myself. But then I always wake up wiped out in my cell, remembering almost nothing," He sighed, throwing his head back in contemplation. "I don't know what is real and what isn't anymore."

If someone had thrown a brick to her face, it would have hurt less. She understood that he was not yet in his sound mind, probably because of the effect of the painkillers, but that agony was real, the suffering to which he had been subjected, day after day, had made a dent in him. She couldn't stand to see couldn't stand thinking of what those Russians had done to him, of what he might have seen, or apparently, hallucinated, in that hellhole.

"Hop. Listen to me," She reached up, took his hand into hers, and brought it to her face. A weak sad smile appeared on his lips, as she rested her face on his hand, in need of that comfort. A simple gesture that meant a lot to both. "Don't worry. No one is going to hurt you. I won't let that happen." A tear rolled over her eye but he quickly wiped it away with his thumb.

"Hey kid, I'm not worried about me." He confessed, his voice sounded like gravel. "I'm worried I will wake up, and you still won't be there. I can't protect you." Gut-wrenching pain shot through El at his words. How often had this happened?

She was afraid of hurting his already bruised body but those words were the last straw for her. Carefully, she climbed the bed and sought refuge in his arms. Tears surfaced freely and soon she began to sob in his chest. With some difficulty, he wrapped his arms tightly around her body, holding her strong against him, praying that that moment would last forever, that he wouldn't awaken to the sound of a cell door opening. "Don't cry, kid." He begged, his voice was only a murmur, the forces were leaving him again.

The girl burrowed further into his chest. "I'll be with you when you wake up."

With the last of his might, he managed to kiss the top of her head. "Do you promise?"

"I promise." She replied, pressing her ear to Hop's chest to hear his heartbeat. After a few minutes, she noticed how that buzzing slowed down to a steady rhythm. He was finally asleep. El closed her eyes concentrating on that sound, with the conviction that whatever happened, she would fulfill her promise.

* * *

"That is not going to happen," Joyce snapped angrily.

Owens rose from the table resting his knuckles on it. "I am not asking you to choose nor am I asking for your consent. It is not in your hands to decide because this is a case of the government. I'm just informing you." He pointed out.

"Are you listening to yourself?" Joyce snorted in disbelief. "I won't consent to you using Hop as a guinea pig. He has suffered enough, don't you think?"

"Take it easy. We have specialists, psychologists specialized in war traumas. We can help him."

"Just like you helped my son?" She spat back, remembering how lost those specialists were with the case of Will. "No. Fuck, no!"

Owens sighed. "Listen. The chief is important. He is the first person who may recover from full possession of that thing. It could help us to better understand how it thinks, at least that is what those above me believe. I'm just the middleman, Joyce. I have my hands tied with this matter."

The woman still did not believe what she heard. "I'm guessing, he will have something to say on _this matter_."

"I'm afraid that he's in no position to be objective."

"At least, I think his daughter has the right to decide?"

"Oh… you mean the girl I'm helping to hide precisely from the government? The one that with just one call…"

"Don't play dirty Owens, because you have more to lose."

"Oh, yeah? I am being polite. I could make them arrest all of you."

Joyce rolled her eyes. "Even the kids?" Her hands waved tiredly before exiting the room. She wasn't going to waste her breath in a futile conversation.

"Hey. Where are you going?!" Owens exclaimed to an empty room. "Holy shit..." He murmured, running to catch up with the woman.

"Leave me alone!" She exclaimed, speeding up her steps.

He soon reached her. "At least be a little reasonable. We need to know if the being is not within him."

Joyce stopped just as she entered into Hopper's room and her jaw dropped. El and Hop were curled up together, sleeping peacefully. The image in front of her eyes was so tender, that all the anger she had evaporated in just a second.

She smiled sympathetically, blinking a few tears away. "Do you still think that this is not our Hopper?" Then she turned to face Owens. "There must be something that you could do. If you leave him here and do what you are planning to do, you will finish him off. Both of them."

Owens sighed for the umpteenth time. He had a feeling that the next few days were going to be hell.

**To be continued**

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**A/N: Hi there. I would like to ask if I should finish this story or extend it with a Jopper/Hop-Eleven part. You decide :) Just let me know. Thank you for reading!**


	15. Another sunrise

**Thank you very much for your follows and review. You are great and I really appreciate your words!**

**I want to thank once again my dear beta reader, AnnieRavenclaw707, for her help and her patience xD**

**Also, I want to dedicate this chapter to all the people that jumped out of their seats watching the last teaser: From Russia with love... OMG.**

**I hope you all like this chapter! Just let me know!**

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**Chapter 15: Another sunrise**

.

It had been two days. Two miserable and eternal days since Joyce faced Owens, and he finally agreed, after a heated argument, to move Hopper to her house. Not without a long list of conditions, of course. She had to do endless checks, administer the medications just as the doctor had written down, and at least call four times a day to make Hopper's progress known. As if this were not enough, Owens would also see him whenever he could.

Although it was quite cumbersome, it was the only way to get Hopper out of there. At first, Joyce thought it was the right thing to do, that it was what's best for him, but at every hour that passed, she was becoming more insecure. What if he got worse? What if she didn't give him the right medicine? What if…?

The woman looked at her watch. It was five in the morning, the time of the first check of the day. A sigh escaped her lips as she rested her fingertips on his wrist. It was purple, he had probably tried to break free from his handcuffs days ago. It was all so unfair. What had he done to deserve so much pain? She wrote down his heartbeats in a small notebook. It had barely changed in the last hours. Was it good or bad? She had no idea. A glass of water with some pills was waiting on the bedside table. It was a complicated task, Hopper had not woken up again in those two days, but occasionally he murmured in dreams, or rather nightmares, Joyce took advantage of that state of semi-consciousness to make him take the medication.

She turned her attention back to her book. Reading was the only thing that could distract her in those endless hours of boredom. But the reality is that in two days she had only reached the third chapter.

Joyce tried hard to concentrate on the letters. But her mind was going quickly to another place, even at another time.

A time when the future stretched in front of her and she had so many plans and hopes. A time when she valued less what matters. A time when she could solve any problem by running away from it because immaturity guided her steps.

A feeling of guilt consumed her inside. Joyce sighed, suddenly feeling regretful for lying to El some days ago. The longest nights of her life weren't two but three. And yes, all of them with Hopper. The world is sometimes ironic and ridiculous. They seemed doomed to flutter each other without getting anywhere. She had assumed that he would always be there. Until he was not. Coming to this conclusion wasn't met with sadness, but instead with very understandable anger.

The first time he left, she fell into a bottomless pit called Lonnie. It all started that fateful night. One night she had tried to forget in every possible way, and with which now her mind tormented her, opening old wounds she thought were closed.

"Damn you, Hopper, why do you always have to play the hero?" It was the same phrase Joyce said that night. A night when her little world collapsed. It was the night she told him that she would not wait for him.

"I was young, selfish, and shortsighted. But you, there's no one more stubborn than you, Hop. That night I told you horrible things, things that I don't feel proud of, but I was hurt, you know? I regretted it then, later...and also now." She bit her lower lip. "'I will not wait for a dead man to return in a wooden box.' That's what I told you. I was extremely exasperated. And angry, too" She spoke softly, remembering the discussion they had just when Hopper said he was leaving for Vietnam. It was the night their paths diverged. Joyce shook her head as she repressed her desire to scream.

"I didn't mean it. God, of course, I didn't. But the news spoke of thousands of dead, and I had no idea if you were dead or alive. Jesus, do you know how scared I was? I had the right to remake my life, don't you think?" It still wasn't fair. Not all the fault was his. "And I suppose you also had the right to feel pissed off. If I could go back, I'd do it differently. I'd fix everything...but we can't, right?" Her finger turned the page of the book in anger. "So many years have gone by, and yet, we haven't changed a bit. I'm still shortsighted, and you, you stubborn man, you still have that insufferable sense of justice."

She took a deep breath, her stomach dropping. "Hopefully, one day, I'll gather enough courage to tell you, face to face, that I…" The distress she felt inside her prevented her from even finishing the sentence. The book closed in her hands. Joyce wasn't going to read it, no matter how hard she tried. Why keep wasting time? She rubbed her tired face, and after what seemed like an eternity, she gathered enough nerve to take a last glance at Hop, it was hard to look at him without feeling guilty.

Her heart skipped a beat when she discovered that two blue eyes were staring at her in the gloom.

"Jesus!" Joyce blurted surprised as the book slipped from her hands and fell to the floor. She didn't know if she was relieved to see him awake at last, or terrified by what he might have heard.

"Hey," she whispered, gazing at his face. Sweat dotted his brow, but his eyes were wide open, more focused and piercing than ever, and what was worse, fixed on hers. "How long have you been awake?" Her hand touched his cheek, caressing it under his now thick and long beard.

"Not much." He lied with a husky voice. In truth, he had lain there for a while, listening to the sound of her voice.

For a few minutes, they kept looking at each other. It seemed as if both were lost, none of them daring to broke the moment with a stupid and unnecessary remark.

Hopper broke the ice. "Where's El?"

Joyce cleared her throat, almost grateful that that was the first question. At least the answer was easy. "El is sleeping in her room. She told me to specify, in case you woke up, that she is only exactly three meters from here. Do you want me to call her?"

"Her room?" He blinked and then glanced around, not recognizing the place. "Where are we?" He asked, clearly frustrated.

"At my house." It was her answer, knowing that it was tremendously easy for him to figure two plus two and conclude. In a selfish thought, she wished he weren't so awake.

"Oh ..." He endured saying. It sounded a little sore. Joyce didn't discern if his wounds hurt or because he disapproved that she had finally moved.

The uncomfortable moment made her remove her hand from his cheek, leaving behind a cold breeze. Hopper regretted almost instantly losing that contact. _Idiot_, he thought.

"It's time for your medication. It'll help you with the pain." She said quickly, trying to distract herself. She took the container waiting on the nightstand. He looked at the pills in her hand, doubting. His mind still felt clouded by the drugs the Russians had administrated him.

"I'm fine." He stated, beginning to sit up.

Joyce tried to stop Hopper by placing a hand on his shoulder. Where was he going? "You need to rest."

He leaned his elbow on the bed and tried to gain impulse. "No. I'm fine."

"You are not." Joyce asserted a bit concerned. If someone deserved to have a degree in stubbornness, that was Hopper.

There was no need to say much more. As soon as his muscles moved, a stabbing pain paralyzed him on the spot. He exhaled several times until his body gave up and felt down again on the pillow. "Holy shit!" Hopper grunted frustrated, and with contained anger.

Joyce gently squeezed his shoulder. "It's ok. Here, take these." She said, offering the pills again next to a glass of water. This time, he did not reject them and took them in one swallow.

Joyce waited for him to catch his breath. She didn't know what to say but she started with, "What are you thinking about?"

"How long ...?" He hesitated.

Joyce turned to leave the glass on the table. "Two days."

"No," He shook his head. "How long since Starcourt?"

_Oh, God._ _Didn't he know how much time had passed?_ The glass slipped from her hand and fell on the table, making an unintended noise.

"Joyce?"

Emotions welled in her throat. She tried to steel herself against them. "Four months." She stated reluctantly as the flood of painful feelings she had experienced over those months came crashing back. Hopper's expression seemed confused as if that information wasn't what he was expecting.

"Only four months?" Hopper mumbled to himself. It had seemed like an eternity, a long and endless dark eternity to be precise.

"According to El, one hundred twenty-six days," Joyce said in a light tone, trying to downplay it, knowing that he always found funny that the girl measures time in days instead of months or years. But he didn't smile. In fact, he has a poker face, and she promptly felt stupid. What the hell was she thinking?

"Sorry." She spoke ashamed but also knowing that four months ago, he would have laughed. God, what was wrong with him?

His gaze turned to the window on the other side. "It's ok."

_No, it's no!_ She screamed in her head. Joyce began to play with her fingers nervously. Nothing was remotely ok. The Hopper she remembers would have complained for the millionth time of his pain, would have insulted the government, the Russians and the entire galaxy. By now, He would be demanding food, or worse, whiskey. He would have made some criticism about the shameful look she was sure she has, and she would have told him to look in a mirror. They would have shared some laughs.

Instead, she had a silent Hopper that seemed to have lost his spirit, content with his situation. It filled her with both annoyance and despair.

"Hop..." She started, trying to search for the correct words, there was so much to be told.

He anticipated what she was thinking. "People say you don't appreciate what you have until you lose it. It's completely and utterly true."

_Yes, it is._ Joyce thought, studying him. It's what she had been repeating to herself for the past four months. Hopper had been a constant in her life since Will's disappearance. It didn't matter if they had not spoken for weeks, only a single phone call was all she needed to have him at her doorway.

Words and explanations were not necessary, not with him, he would just care enough to stay. Ever ready to listen, never judging or criticizing, but quite able to disapprove, He was a consistent support to her.

That is what drove her crazy in recent months. When life takes away the only shoulder to lean on, all you can do is fall.

"It's so beautiful." He murmured, getting her out of her thoughts.

Joyce was confused and followed his gaze, still fixed on the window. Outside it could only be seen the porch of the house with her car parked in it. What was he looking at? Would he be delirious again?

"What is it?" Joyce asked worriedly.

"The light of the sun."

_Damn it._ She sensed that Hopper would be broken but she did not imagine that the damage could be so great as to miss something as simple. She had lost her rock months ago, falling into the black hole, but he had also been in the abyss, probably still in it. They were going to need to help each other if they wanted to get out of there. To rise again.

Her fingers reach for his hand and he lightly squeezed them back. This wasn't just another sunrise, for neither of them. This one was special.

To be continued.

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**Ok. I know that I'm a bit dramatic here... you can share your thoughts and opinions if you like. Thanks for reading!**


	16. I'm fine

**Hi all! Thank you very much for all your feedback! :)**

**Crazytime000: Oh that's nothing, believe me. (Evil face)**

**Theindividualist: Thank you for your review. I'm glad that you liked it.**

**AnnieRavenclaw707: Thanks again for your incredible work beta reading this :)**

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**Chapter 16: I'm fine.**

.

The next day the situation had not gone better. Hopper was still an impenetrable and untalkative character. As if that were not enough, he only seemed to improve his mood a little when El was close. At first, Joyce thought it was good, but as the hours went by, she began to glimpse beyond the facade he was trying to put in when the girl was around. It immediately disappears when El leaves, transforming him into a snail hiding into his shell.

Would he be angry with her in any way? It was clear that the last four months had been a real nightmare for him. Joyce couldn't stop thinking that she was the only one to be blamed for his sentence. She hadn't been quick or witty enough to help him against the giant Russian in Starcourt, and it was her hands that turned the keys that sent him to hell.

Hopper hadn't said anything about it yet, but she couldn't help considering that maybe he was resentful. Why else would he be so apathetic to her? That was nothing more than a conjecture, but the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that it was true.

Joyce tried to stop speculating about it as she pulled the most hated briefcase from Hopper out of the closet. It had a printed sign that read: First aid kit.

"Seriously? Again? It hasn't even been a day," She heard him protest.

"According to the doctor, I have to change your bandages every twelve hours. If you want to insult someone, you know who,"

Needless to say it twice. "Damn Owens," He muttered under his breath.

In the previous days, that task had been more manageable because Hopper was unconscious the whole time. But now, the job was going to be the worst time for both of them by far.

Joyce began to remove the old dressing with care, leaving bare the wound that ran through his abdomen. Even if they tried to forget what had happened, the scar that would remain would be a permanent reminder. At first glance, it seemed more spectacular than it was, but every time she saw it, her stomach turned.

"Tell me the truth. How's it going?" His voice had a hint of worry.

"Better. It is healing," Joyce replied, removing the last sticking plaster.

"I guess that's good, but I still don't understand it. What happened? Last time it wasn't that, big?"

"You had surgery," Joyce stated curtly. It wasn't the first time Hopper asked about it. It seemed that he did not remember anything about his possession, it was a gap in his mind, and El thought it was better that way.

The girl didn't want him to carry that burden on his shoulders. Not after everything that had happened to him. In the end, what would she tell him? Yes, well, you were used to slaughter all the Russians, summon a small army of Demodogs, and then your hands tried to kill your daughter? Not in a million years. That would destroy him.

"Joyce, what happened _before_ that?" He emphasized.

"Oh, well, you know, El using her powers, finding you, the cavalry breaking into the Russian base ... nothing more important," Ok, it wasn't the most elaborate story, but it wasn't a lie either. It was an only half-truth, and with many script holes. Not bad, for a would-be intern nurse trying to do good work.

From his stare, he hadn't taken the bait, but thank God he didn't keep pushing the matter.

"Ready?" She asked, holding a gauze soaked in saltwater.

"No," Hopper answered childishly. Joyce rested the palm of her other hand over his belly. "Hey, I'll be quick. I promise." She hesitated for a moment, feeling genuinely sorry for what she was about to do.

"Oh, for the love of God, just do it!" He grunted.

She stroked the wound gently but being aware it still had to hurt like hell. However, Hopper just stared at the ceiling, seemingly impassive. No sound came from him. The only visible sign of agony was that his belly was tense like a wooden plank under the touch of her fingers. She was beginning to doubt that he was even breathing.

"Hold on a little longer. I'm almost done," Joyce stated, struggling to finish cleaning the wound.

Hopper did not answer. It was evident for her that if he opened his mouth, the only sound that would come out would be a heartbreaking scream of pain. He would never, ever, admit it. And, of course, she would never tell him that she already heard it. Her mind remembered too well the recording of Murray's house. Joyce couldn't un-heard that raw cry. Why did he have to continue to suffer?

She took one last look at the wound, and when she felt satisfied, she applied the new bandages.

"I'm getting better, right?" There was self-sufficiency in her voice. Maybe she intended to cheer him up. "I could be a great nurse. What do you think?"

He rolled his eyes. "Not even in your best dreams, Joyce." And suddenly, he tried to sit up on the bed.

Joyce turned alarmed. "What are you doing?"

"Did you bring what I asked for?"

"Yes, Jonathan bought it first thing. But Hop, that can wait."

"No," If there was a word to describe his features, it was reluctance. Joyce knew she couldn't stop him from sitting on the bed, so she tried to help him. Hopper dodged her sharply. "I'm fine." There was irritation in his voice.

Joyce tried to recreate the words of Owens in her mind.

_'He will have PTSD, and only time can help with it. He could be irritable, aggressive, frightened, depressed, detached from friends, and even have a self-destructive behavior. Never leave him alone, Joyce. And please, stay calm. No matter what he does or says, you need to stay calm. Don't pressure him. If he gets worse, you call me first, ok?'_

Joyce was trying to understand him, but it was so hard. He looked broken and lost, and all she wanted to do was comfort him, but she knew she shouldn't do it. Joyce didn't want to invade his space, nor his pace.

The doctor had been very clear about that. Hopper had to take the first step, never the other way around. All she wanted was everything to end. It was a vain illusion. Nothing would ever be the same, but she had a little hope. A new start was possible, even if it was a difficult one.

Hopper managed, after a few minutes, to sit on the edge of the bed. Joyce crossed her arms. It was the only way to stop using them to help him up. All she could do was mentally curse the man's pride, although there was something she could not doubt, and it was the incredible willpower he had.

After two failed attempts, he managed to stand up. His body trembled, and Joyce let out a tense sigh, ready to catch him if necessary.

Hopper growled with too much grumpiness. "I'm fine!" Joyce didn't know if he was telling her or himself.

"Right," The irony filled her voice. "But would you mind if I do something useful?"

Hopper looked at the bathroom's door and calculated that he had to take about six steps to get there. Could he do it without falling in front of Joyce? He was thinking for a while until he finally raised his arm to her. "You're right. I'll share the merit." Joyce rolled her eyes as she ran his arm over her shoulders, and with the other hand, she took him by the waist, carrying part of his weight. She couldn't believe how light he seemed. How much weight had he lost?

After a few minutes and an occasional limp, they got to the bathroom. Hopper withdrew his arm from Joyce and held himself tightly over the sink, his lungs exhausted from the effort. It was so absurd that Joyce just wanted to yell at him.

Stay Calm, Owen's voice repeated in her mind as she shook her head.

"Ok." She sighed heavily as her hand opened the closet over the sink. "Here you have scissors, shaving foam, and a razor blade." She announced, pointing to the named utensils.

Hopper took the razor blade between his fingers and examined it carefully like a luxury item. After a moment, his gaze fell on Joyce, who was now leaning on the nearby wall.

"What are you doing?" He asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Nothing." She answered, shocked at his mood.

"Exactly," he spatted back. "It's quite weird that you stay to watch me shave. Sometimes a man needs privacy."

"Oh! Do not flatter yourself! The world doesn't revolve around you, Hopper!" She had had enough but immediately regretted it. _Stay calm, you idiot!_ She thought before continue. "Besides, nothing is interesting on tv."

Despite the mocking tone she had used, he was good at reading between the lines. An exasperated male sigh sounded in the room, and after a few seconds of avoiding glances, Hopper smirked with irony. "Seriously, Joyce?" He spoke, trying not losing his temper because he knew too well what she was thinking, and that was driving him mad. "Do you really believe me capable of doing it? When do I know that my daughter will return home? And with a razor blade?" Despite how crazy it sounded, Joyce didn't change her expression of concern. "For God's sake. I just want to shave comfortably. Is it too much to ask?"

The tension filled the air. It was overwhelming. Joyce, without a word, simply nodded as she left the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Hopper released the breath he had held without realizing it. He thought the worst was over, but it wasn't. His hand closed the closet, and the mirror in front of him returned, without warning, his reflection. Something stirred inside him, not recognizing the man in front of him. He looked down, scared, and disgusted.

His fingers clenched the razor blade hard even though his hand was shaking. His jaw clenched with determination. Fuck. It was something simple. He could do it. And he was going to do it.

* * *

The sound of her fingers against the wood of the table was drilling her brain. What the hell was she thinking? Owens had been crystal clear. Don't leave him alone. Under no circumstances. And what had she done? God. She puffed on the cigarette, her only relief to try to calm her nerves. Her mind was screaming at her that it had been a recklessness move. But the tone Hopper had used sounded desperate, almost a plea. He wanted space. It was clear that this was not a simple aesthetic fad. He wanted to prove something. What exactly? For God's sake, it was James Hopper, Hawkins' most independent and tough guy. He didn't have to prove anything to anyone.

The cigarette consumed itself, abandoned in the ashtray as it released dancing spirals in the air. It had been almost ten unbearable minutes. Her eyes couldn't stop staring at the closed bathroom door. Ten endless minutes. One by one. The doubt was devastating her inside. Enough.

Her fingers knocked on the door. She hoped that a moody voice roared at her, but it didn't. No sound emerged on the other side.

_No. Please, no!_ Her heart raced, pounding in her throat. "I'm going in!" She warned before opening the door wide, fearful of what might emerge on the other side. The possibilities were infinite, and all of them dreadful.

"Hopper!" She called, scanning the room. The man was sitting clumsily on the floor, his back resting on the tile wall.

"Oh, my God. What happened?" Joyce didn't want to sound too mother-hen but failed miserably. Quickly, she knelt beside him, watching for any sign of a new injury. Hopper just looked away, trying unsuccessfully to hide his face.

"Hop?"

"I'm fine." He murmured, those words came out on autopilot, wasted and hollow.

"Hop, look at me." She felt that her nerves were about to break.

The man gulped hard as his eyes closed. His soul pleaded for more time alone. Her thin fingers rested on his now soft chin, and slowly, she turned his head in her direction.

"Please?" She begged tenderly as her thumb stroked his cheek.

Reluctantly, his eyes cracked open, exposing the inevitable truth. They were red and glassy.

Oh, Hop. She thought as her fingers traced the line of his jaw. Joyce saw how he wanted to look away again, ashamed of being discovered at that moment of weakness. She held his head in place, it didn't cost her much. He barely put up resistance.

"I'm sorry." He managed to say.

There were a thousand questions in her head. Why was he so damn stubborn? And why was he apologizing now? For being human?

Joyce remained silent, waiting for him to start talking. Owens said it was he who had to take the first step, and that she should be patient. But the doctor did not know Hopper. That would happen when the pigs fly. To hell with medical instructions!

"You have nothing to be ashamed of." She reassured him.

The man looked down, shame, soon turned into frustration. "Sorry, I can't be the man you once knew. I don't even recognize myself in the mirror." He licked his lips as Joyce waited. She knew there was more. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. A cracking iceberg.

Those blue eyes couldn't hide that his damn pride was burning him from the inside. Joyce could see how he struggled to prevent tears from escaping his eyes. Not in front of her. That's why he needed to be alone. He was like a pressure cooker, full of repressed emotions, and about to explode.

"Do you regret not always being the hero?" She said, with a sad, compassionate smile. "Ok. Listen carefully to me," Joyce cupped his face in her hands. "Let's pretend, just in this room, and for only the next few minutes that you're not Hopper,"

His eyebrow rose, confused.

She nodded. "You're just Jim. A normal man, who can shout if he needs it, who can ask for help, who does not need to be anyone's shield, does not have to keep up appearances or shut up anything. Jim has permission to curse, say how he feels. And if he needs it, Jim can also cry, he doesn't have to be hard or stay strong. Don't leave anything inside, because it is not good. What do you think, Jim?"

For a moment he didn't react, he just fell silent. Joyce knew he was about to fall apart. She couldn't take it anymore.

"Come here," Slowly, she guided his head into her shoulder before embracing him tightly. His pain was palpable, as was hers. Joyce spoke first, her voice low and quiet. "You are not alone," she said against his neck. He didn't answer. Instead, she felt as his arms grasped her for dear life. "Not anymore." She stated, sinking her fingers into his freshly cut hair, stroking it, gently.

They couldn't see their faces, maybe it was better that way because she immediately noticed how her shoulder began to get wet, silently. Those tears broke her heart. They were necessary, nobody can carry that weight on his own and pretend that nothing happens. She closed her eyes as they sat that way for several minutes. Holding each other in an embrace so tight that it was almost painful. He needed to hold on to something, feel like he could share his misery. And she still needed to make sure he wasn't a hallucination that would disappear at any moment.

"Joyce…" His voice was a mere murmur. "Tell me what happened that day. I need to know. I need to know that I don't… Every night I wake up with horrible memories, Joyce."

"They're just nightmares." She whispered.

He shook his head against her shoulder. "I can tell a nightmare from a flashback. I learned it when I returned from Vietnam. Don't lie to me, Joyce. Fuck. I'm a cop, I know when someone lies." His voice cracked. "Don't lie to me, please."

It was the moment. She couldn't keep pretending that nothing had happened. Hopper was many things, but he was good at finding out things.

The woman tried to pull back, but he didn't let her go, snuggling her even closer to him if that was even possible. Almost a desperate grip. Joyce forced herself to stay calm. She could not lie to him, or change the subject, much less tell him bluntly. If he was so affected, and by the desperation of his words he was, she was sure that it had to do with the confrontation between El and the Mind flayer inside him. What else could it be?

"That thing played with your memories, Hop. He tried to hurt you, but you know what? He did not succeed. That day, you saved each other. Eleven saved you, taking that thing out of you. But you saved her, surviving one more day. Hopper, if you had died, you would have destroyed the girl. Every night she tried to look for you. It always ended in a nightmare, but she never lost hope, you know?"

Slowly, he parted away, not ready to glance at her. His blue orbs were bloodshot and the color from his face was drained, leaving him to look pale and miserable.

"El implored me to never tell you, Hop, precisely because of this. She doesn't want you to feel guilty." Gently, she took his chin and tilted his head to look at her. "She needs you," Joyce stated, convinced at her own words, but there were too many things in his eyes that she couldn't understand.

Suddenly, the door of the house opened and then the voices of two crazy children began to rumble throughout the house. One of them with an excess of joy. "Hey, Hop!" El exclaimed, far away. "You won't believe the movie we've rented for tonight! You'll love it!"

Their eyes meet again, and they shared a glance of understanding. Joyce wiped away the dry tears from his cheeks and helped him to stand up. "Ok. I'll distract the kids. Wash your face with water, ok? And Hopper ... I need you to remember that you're not alone."

**To be continued**

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**Feel free to leave a comment if you liked it :)**


	17. Vietnam (Part I)

**Woah! I'm so sorry for not updating in so long. I hope you didn't forget about this crazy story ;)**

**Kitz: I'm glad you liked it. Yeah, we're looking forward to watch that date in season4... :)**

**Crazytime000: Thank you!**

**Also, I want to thank AnnieRavenclaw707, my fantastic beta reading! Thank you very very much! :)**

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**Chapter 17: Vietnam (Part I)**

**.**

Hopper ran like hell, he couldn't even look where his feet were leading him, but anywhere was better than what he left behind. He didn't know how he had come back there, and at that time, it was not his top priority because he was running for his life. As always, in recent months.

The air was beginning to run out in his lungs, resentful, and damaged. The atmosphere of that place would end up killing him if the monster that was chasing him did not do it before. He kept running until his feet lost his balance, and his body staggered to meet the end of the road. The edge of a cliff gave him an ungrateful welcome. Holy shit.

His sight was not enough to see the bottom of the ravine and no alternative way either. That was it. Still panting, he looked ahead, to the desolate world of the Upside-Down, so dark and yet so sinisterly recognizable. Disheartened, he turned around. The shadow monster had reached him. There was no escape.

"There never was one," He heard the shadow speak in his head. "You think you have escaped, but you never did. You'll never escape…"

"Hopper!" A voice called him. His eyes opened at once, and he found himself panting heavily. His mind tried to remember where he was. Safe at Joyce's house, thank God. Two enormous brown eyes were looking at him, shinning. "I can't believe it. You fell asleep!" El laughed in his lap. They had dozen off together, he more than her, on the couch.

Oh, shit. The Miami Vice music was sounding on the background. The girl was so excited to watch the new episode together. She had practically crossed out the days on the calendar, like a countdown. And yes, he had embarrassedly fallen asleep. And no, it hadn't even been a good dream.

"I'm sorry. Was it a good episode?"

The girl looked tenderly at him "The best," El never thought she would see an episode with him again. Hopper put his arm over her and pulled the girl closer. "Well, maybe you can tell me how it ended?"

"That will have to wait. If we don't leave now, we'll be late for the cinema." Jonathan stated, taking the car keys.

"Cinema?" Hopper stared at the older Byers boy. He didn't know anything about that plan, and that irritated him. Jonathan seemed to shun his gaze, shrugging. It felt prepared, and they had not counted on him at all.

"Yes!" Will shouted excitedly. "Mum bought us tickets to go see the new Indiana Jones movie, isn't it great?"

Joyce left the kitchen upon hearing the commotion. "Yes. And if you don't hurry, you will have a line to buy popcorn. Do you carry everything necessary, Jonathan?"

"For the millionth time, yes, everything is ready." They said in unison.

"Please, don't forget to phone when you get to the Thompsons house, ok?" Joyce told, acting like a mother-hen.

"Yes, yes..." Will said, running towards the car, followed by El. Jonathan was the last to leave the house, and before doing so, he looked at his mother, she grinned and nodded, then the boy looked at Hopper and said goodbye almost with shame before closing the door.

"What the hell was that? To the house of the Thompsons? Who the hell are the Thompsons?" Hopper asked, quite annoyed. On the one hand, he was worried about the kids going out alone, and on the other hand, he was terrified of not knowing his daughter's last habits. Had she changed them so much in recent months? Was that normal?

"Relax. The Thompsons are the parents of Ted, a friend from school. They are good people. They will have a fun night."

"School? Wait! Will they sleep outside?!" Hopper exclaimed, alarmed. His facet of protective bear began to rise levels. Too much information for him.

"Yes, Hop. Yes. It's Friday, and they are young, they have to have fun." Joyce replied. As if that were the perfect answer.

"Joyce! Precisely because it's Friday, anything could happen! Do you know how many horrible things happen on weekends?!" His face was a poem. The most dramatic one ever written.

"For heaven's sake, Hopper. Don't worry! The Thompsons only live a couple of blocks from here, and Jonathan will be with them all the time." She replied, almost laughing.

Joyce had always quite liked the overprotective streak of Hopper over El. Sometimes it was annoying but cute. She could still remember when he called her, extremely worried, or appeared in Melvald's store, only to rant about the Miller's boy. What did he call him? Oh, yes. The perverted puny catastrophe.

Hopper crossed his arms, lying on the couch. Maybe she was right, and he was worrying too much. He just wanted to be sure that the girl would be fine, that was all. Besides, he didn't understand why Joyce was looking at him that way. Wait a moment, did she have lipstick on her lips? And when she had changed clothes?

"Also, I have a surprise for you." She spoke, smiling like a schoolgirl, before disappearing back into the kitchen. "I have prepared a different dinner."

"Joyce, you don't need to..." He began to say when the woman appeared with a tray of dishes and a bottle of wine. "Oh." Yep. He was stunned.

Hopper looked at the plate in front of him and raised an eyebrow. It was a meal too posh. Joyce was not like that, not even close. His taste buds had been so disgusted in recent months, that also a grilled shoe would have tasted delicious for them, however that meal. A knot began to form in his stomach. Everything clicked in his head. Holy shit. He thought immediately. It was not necessary to be Sherlock Holmes to solve the case.

Joyce had taken care of the children spending the night outside. They were alone. Posh dinner. Friday. Oh, my God. No! Hopper opened his eyes wide and glanced at Joyce, trying to find an explanation. It was not the time, nor the place, and she. Shit. She was smiling. And it was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. His eyes felt on the plate, and suddenly his stomach stopped being hungry. It felt sick.

"Enzo's," His lips let out that word, like a curse.

"I think we've waited a long for this. So, since you're still not able to go out, I guess this is a good idea."

Hopper ran his hands over his face. He was not ready for that.

Joyce realized that he didn't correspond in her effusiveness. "You do not like it? I can prepare something else. I think that there may be something in the fridge."

"Joyce. It's not that," he exhaled with sorrow. "We need to talk."

The four damn words. We need to talk. When someone says that, it is never good at all. Their eyes met. The Brown hopes against bluish sadness.

Hopper cursed the universe, because the stars were against him, without leaving him alone for at least a couple more days, he only asked for that, a couple more days in a bubble of tranquility!

Suddenly, the phone rang, and he was relieved to postpone that conversation. What he didn't know was that that call would rush everything instead of delaying anything. He hadn't finished fitting the situation, mentally searching for an escape, when Joyce hung up the call.

She stared at the device long enough to try to regain the ability to speak. "It was from Gary." She finally said.

Of course. Hopper swore, almost listening in his brain as the bubble of tranquility made pop.

She put her hands on her hips. "So, when were you going to tell me?"

"I didn't think Gary would be so fast." He was starting to hate that guy. "I expected it to take at least a couple of weeks." He confessed.

Joyce sat in front of him and withdrew her plate. She had just lost her appetite too.

"Why?" She asked, still unable to look at him. The question was straight and clear.

He could have had a simple answer. But nothing was ever easy for them.

"Well, as the mind flayer shattered my cabin, I think it's normal to be looking for a new house, don't you think?"

"In Hawkins." Joyce practically spat the name of the town in disgust, and still restrained herself from adding: Three hundred and fifty miles from me.

Hopper sighed profoundly. Why him? Why was he always who had to lose? "Joyce, I…" He hesitated, seeking to search the correct words. He didn't mean to hurt her, but the damage was already there.

A sense of deja vu enveloped her. She had already lived that same experience, twenty years ago. The shadow of Vietnam's farewell was there. And she was not going to go through it. Not again, not ever.

And, to be honest, Joyce was tired of being patient. "Don't run away, Hop. Not again." There, she had finally said it. And she was relieved that after all those years she had gotten it out of her system.

Joyce had just dropped a bomb and hoped he would respond by exploding it, but he didn't. The sudden silence disturbed her.

"I can't believe that you, from all the people in this world, are saying this to me." Those were hard words, and yet she would have preferred him to shout them or even use an ironic tone, but no, it was much worse. Hopper felt hurt. "Oh, Joyce. If you think that I'm running away, you just don't understand anything at all."

"I want to!" She yelled in frustration. "But you just, don't talk to me, Hop. I'm not a pythoness. I can't guess what you think." She tried to calm down, for the sake of both of them. "Hop, I want to help you. But I need to understand, and I can't do that if you don't open up. Just be honest with me, because I think I deserve it."

Fair enough, he considered. After all, putting up a front wasn't an option, not this time.

"I was about to die, several times. Back in Vietnam. It was..." He shocked his head. "It doesn't matter. That was a long time ago." His voice diminished as if coming from a distance. "But you know, life gave me a second chance, and I took it. I left there and decided to return to the only place I knew I would be safe. Hawkins." He chuckled ironically. "But when something good happens to you, it's never free. It always has a price." His voice stopped before continuing, searching in her eyes. "Do you want me to be honest, Joyce?"

A gulp went down her throat. She didn't know what to expect. "Always."

"On the way back, I couldn't bear to see you with Lonnie, and I couldn't do anything either, and you were so… pregnant. Do you think I left because I was running away? No, Joyce. I left because it was the best for both of us. I swear that if I stayed, I was losing it. It felt like a constant stab!"

"Hop,"

"No, Joyce. Shut up!" She had opened Pandora's box and had to bear the consequences. "I went to New York. You already know that. And life gave me another chance. I took it, why not? Joyce, I swear that for the first time in my life, I was happy. I had a wonderful wife, Diane, and an angel called Sara. But again, I had to pay the highest price." He shut his eyes while clenching his lips.

Many years had passed since that loss, and yet the mention of the little girl kept bleeding his heart. Another vicious stab, committed with extreme cruelty. Right in the middle of his chest. The knife remained inside him, twisting.

Joyce felt a lump in her throat, she almost lost Will two years ago and couldn't even imagine what would have happened to her if they hadn't finally been able to save him.

"A part of me died in New York. And yes, then I ran away. And I took refuge in the only place that might remind me of better times. Hawkins. And you know what? Life gave me another fucking chance." Now he was shouting, not at her, but at the universe, God, or whatever you want to call it. "And could you guess what I did? Yeah," He laughed madly. "I was so damn naive, desperate, and stupid, that I committed the same error. All over again!"

All that pain and misery made her blink away tears. She was relieved that he had stopped looking at her a while ago. One of the two had to remain strong.

"That was when I took care of El. I won't deny that it was complicated. But that kid, step by step, help me to feel alive again. I started to be happy." A sad smile appeared on his lips. "And then Starcourt passed, and the Russians."

"Hop, that's over." She dared to reply, putting her hand on his.

"I know. But now life gives me another chance." This time his eyes not shied away and locked on hers. "And I can't take it. Not this time. Not anymore. My duty

is above any..." He trailed off, unsure of his own words.

"Attempt to be happy?" She ended it for him, just as his hand moved away from hers.

"I have a duty of care for El. If something happened to her, it would be the last stab I could bear. I will never get up again. Joyce, I'm fed up, tired and exhausted. I have to go back home with my daughter. For me, it is the only important thing, and I hope you can understand it. Not today, not tomorrow, but I know that one day you will understand."

Joyce couldn't breathe. That atmosphere overwhelmed her. She got up, and without a word, rushed out the door, in need of fresh air.

Hopper exhaled when he heard the door slammed and laid his head on the back of the sofa, growling. Nothing was ever simple with Joyce Byers. He felt a hole after that conversation, a deep black hole that he didn't know if he could one day fill again.

* * *

Joyce looked ahead, a car passed by next to her house. Her gaze followed it. Yes, that was their lives, tumbling down the road, and disappearing into the darkness. Also, it was the second cigar, as her mind kept trying to process what had happened. That night didn't have to end like that. It couldn't end like that!

She traveled in time to that crazy night, twenty years ago. Vietnam's farewell night was happening all over again.

Previously, only a few days before, Hopper was notified that his father had died in combat in Vietnam's war. Instead of doing what anyone would have done, taking your pain and accept the decoration of the army, he didn't. He imposed on himself the duty to finish what his father started. To her, it seemed great foolishness. Joyce took a drag on the cigarette. At that time, She didn't know him enough.

Now she realized who that man was. Hopper always put his loved ones first, his convictions above his physical integrity. Damn you, Hop. She still remembered the stupidity he had committed a year ago when he decided to explore the tunnels under Hawkins, alone. Why had he done such idiocy? Now she had the answer. Hopper was used to dealing with his problems alone. Forever Alone. She blew smoke from her lungs, still remembering those anguish moments, rescuing him from vines.

"Are you ok?" She asked him, horrified. He never answered that question.

Life had beaten him several times, but he was a born fighter, he never gave up. Until now. The last experience had left him mortally wounded, and that wound was not going to heal, not if he decided to continue fighting alone. She understood his reasons but did not share them.

Yes. He would protect El. But for how long? El would stop being a girl, and sooner or later, much to his regret, she would start a life on her own, and he would be left alone again.

Joyce was not going to allow Vietnam to repeat itself. They could not spend another twenty years to make the right decision. No. She was not going to allow it. Curiously, it passed the same car as five minutes ago, in front of her house. Maybe it was a divine sign.

"No more." She threw the cigarette with a desition and went back into the house. That night wasn't over. Not yet.

**To be continued.**

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**Please, let me know your thoughts on this : )**


	18. Vietnam (Part II)

**I'm sorry for the delay in updating this, but life is crazy nowadays... Btw thank the new followers. I hope you enjoy this one too. :)**

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**Chapter 18: Vietnam (Part II)**

**.**

When she came back into the house, the first thing she realized was that Hopper had disappeared from the living room. The light of what had been his room so far was on. So it was clear that he was closing that discussion, and had retired to his particular cave.

Joyce pursed her lips. That was far from over, although maybe she was going to need some fuel. The woman took the bottle of wine from the dinner, regretting that it wasn't Murray's vodka, and drank a glass. Maybe two.

When she gathered enough courage, her feet headed for the room, finding Hopper sitting on the edge of the bed, his head resting on his hands. He seemed as devastated as she was, and yet, she knew it would not be easy to change his mind. We are talking about Jim stubborn Hopper after all.

"You were right about one thing," She started, leaning on the door frame. "We need to talk."

Eternal seconds passed before he decided to answer. Hopper groaned, outrunning his hand through his face. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation with her. "Joyce, this argument is over. This is my decision, and it's already taken."

_Oh, really?!_ She thought. You're not the only person in this world, Hop! Your actions not only affect you, and only you! Yes, she wanted to scream that at him, that and more. But if she had, the same thing would have happened again that night. Vietnam's second part. Instead, Joyce entered the room and stood in front of him, calmy.

He wanted her to scream, to be mad at him. That would be more indulgent. But no. And what was worse, Joyce was giving him a look of understanding that was totally new to him. All those years and Joyce Byers was still a mystery.

But he had told the truth. The decision was already made. "Joyce. Just let me go."

Her stomach turned. Obviously, Hopper wasn't talking about that room. But of her life. Again, and for good.

"I will, but with one condition," She said, to surprise for both of them. "Look at me, Hop. Right in the eye. Look at me, and tell me you don't give a damn about me. Tell me that you don't like me. Tell me that, and I won't insist," She took a step forward. "I will only let you go if I hear it from you. I need to hear it while you look at me."

Hopper took a deep breath. The request was simple. He just had to say the damn words, and it would all end. He had been lying for many years to many people, including her. Damn it. He spent a whole year hiding El, inventing cheap excuses to get out of the way. It was not difficult. He just had to do it one more time. To get over the sadness of not having a simple life.

"Joyce," He replied, gathering enough courage to look at her. "I ..." Then he realized that his plan had an unexpected problem. Those brown eyes were scared, like a wounded animal, desperate and helpless. It was the same look as El the night he picked her up in the forest. The situation was completely different, of course, but there was a common factor. They were two people, lost, asking for help, and he had the duty to serve and protect.

"I do not..." Came on Hopper, just two more words! Why was it so arduous to say? Hopper's heart ached at the thought of never seeing Joyce again. No more night conversations. No more coffees while arguing about what a teenager was most repellent. No more seeing those beautiful brown eyes. Was he willing to throw everything away just because he was too scared to be hurt again?

She slowly walked towards him and put herself to his eye level. That was the last straw that disarmed him completely. He could not stand Joyce looking at him with tenderness mixed with unbearable pain in her eyes, because he knew that, in one way or another, she was suffering because of him. Those pleading eyes broke his already wounded heart even further.

"I can't." He confessed, looking away.

Just by looking at him, Joyce could tell what he was thinking. After all that time that they had spent together, he was like an open book to her.

_'You can do this, Joyce. Hop would never hurt you, and you know you love him.'_ Joyce's eyes widened in surprise, and she gasped. _'She loved Jim Hopper.'_

Somehow, without her being aware of it, he had managed to squeeze himself into her heart, to a place that no one had ever found before. Tears filled her eyes, and a weight lifted away from her. There was no way she was letting him go, not now.

Joyce wasn't thinking straight, but the anguish could be more than her reason. She just wanted to reimagine what she should have done a long time ago, and there was only a proper way to do it. Crossing the point of no return, and the only way to do that was to pierce the battered armor of Hopper, shooting it at close range. And she did.

Suddenly he felt her lips into his. She was kissing him, hard and desperately, as if she could steal twenty years worth of missing kisses from his lips. Her tongue tried to parting his lips, almost forcefully, but it crashed mercilessly against an impenetrable fortress. Shocked, his hands took her by her shoulders, trying to pull her away.

"Joyce," He muttered, committing the big mistake of opening the fortress gate. Her tongue entered, claiming the place, clouding his mind.

That kiss turned into a pitched battle, so desperate that she pushed him further, both falling on the bed. She kissed him until any resistance from him melted. Unable to resist her anymore, he kissed her back, surrendering into her spell, with his own lips glazed with desire, slowly tangling his fingers in her hair.

Too much time watching her from a distance, as someone forbidden, always reserved for others who were not him. Never him, and that drove him mad. It was easy to lose the little control he had left. His free hand ran it up her side and to her neck, stopping on her cheek. He wanted her more than anything. This kiss was not like any other kiss. This one was a cry of desperation, an opportunity to amend mistakes, a hope of, perhaps, a new life, a second chance. No. The two cursed words. Second chance.

His lips loosened hers, in need of air. "Joyce," He murmured, his voice husky.

"Shut up, Hop." She replied. They looked at each other, panting lightly. Her lips were swollen and pink, her face flushed a delicate pink, and her eyes were bright with newfound knowledge.

Her hands slid over him, caressing his neck before entwining them within the silky strands of his hair. She felt him shudder under her touch as he quickly released her. Abruptly, he backed away and ran a hand through his hair.

Joyce watched his retreat and felt a pang of regret. Things could never be the same between them. This had changed everything. Probably forever. This wasn't what she had in mind. How did things get out of control?

Hopper's eyebrows furrowed. "What is that noise?"

_My heart broking into pieces?_ She thought. "I think the boys have forgotten their keys, again. I'll go."

"I thought they weren't coming back until tomorrow."

"Teenagers. You know. They change their mind in a blink." She replied tensely, getting out of bed.

Hopper watched as the woman left the room. It was clear that any excuse was good to run away from him in despair. Angry, he threw the pillow over his face with a horrible desire to scream, hatting himself. _Great, Hopper, fantastic. You just had to hold back and hold on a little longer. And now what? You just screwed the only friend you had. Probably, the only person you had to be able to vent and speak openly. Congratulations. Now you are completely alone._

He threw the pillow furiously and rolled on his side closing his eyes angrily, almost like a little boy who wanted to disappear and didn't want to face the real world. At least he was comforted to know that the boys were back. Probably their crazy screams, spoiling the movie would cheer him up. It was weird that he didn't hear them chattering already. They were loud, and El was pretty good at opening doors.

His eyes opened wide. "Idiot." He told himself.

* * *

Joyce headed for the entrance door. The feeling of guilt and anger didn't let her think of anything else. She knew she could never look Hopper in the face again, not after that.

Before she could continue to mentally insult herself, the door slammed open. She froze on the site, without knowing how to react.

"Wow, wow... it seems we have succeeded." Joyce found herself looking at the barrel of a gun, pointed at her. Holding it to the other end was the FBI agent, or rather, the Russian spy, Eric Jones.

**To be continued.**

**Seriously, you forget about the agent Jones? Well, he hasn't forgotten our beloved protagonists. (Evil face...)**


	19. The longest night

**Thanks for your follows and reviews, you're all fantastic. And please, be careful out there :)**

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**Banestar: Sorry about that. Another country, another culture... my bad. **

**I want to say special thanks to my wonderful beta-reader AnnieRavenclaw707. You're the best! :)**

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**Chapter 19: The longest night.**

.

Joyce froze, she didn't know what to do or what to say. Jones stepped inside, and to the woman's dismay, another man appeared behind him, also armed. He was one of the Russians who had broken into Murray's house before they had fled. She was sure of it.

Jones went to her, menacingly, and it was then that her survival instinct began to work. Her legs were stepping back as he came closer until her back hit the wall. Helpless, she felt her heart in her throat, the buzzing of the beats rumbling in her eardrums.

"Where is the girl?" Jones asked sharply, still holding the gun at her.

She was so terrified that the deep stupor of the horror drained all thoughts from her mind, that words didn't come. Jones did a sign to his partner. "Search the house."

The Russian nodded, disappearing down the hall.

Jones adjusted the gun between his fingers. "I'm not a very patient man,"

Joyce gulped nervously. She had faced many complicated situations in recent years, but none with such a high probability of ending badly, and completely alone. She couldn't stop looking at the barrel of the gun.

"If you want to live another day, tell me where she is."

* * *

Silently, the Russian crossed the hallway, searching for any trace of the girl. The first room has the door slightly open. The soldier pointed the gun ahead, to the dark place, he wanted to end it. Catching the girl and getting out of there, it couldn't be that complicated.

As soon as the man's foot crossed the threshold, a shadow gave him a powerful straight kick that sent the gun upon the polished wood floor. He tried to turn, but an arm clenched around his throat and began to squeeze, his voice muffled by the pressure against the windpipe. "You choose the wrong house, pal." Hopper murmured in his ear.

The soldier spiked his heels to the ground and pushed back, slamming his attacker against the wall. The blow caused the pressure on his neck to ease enough to throw a blowback with his elbow and free himself.

He barely had time to turn, gasping, when Hopper charged him, full force, and seized him to the floor, the wooden surface winding him as they landed hard.

He was struggling to breathe and unable to push himself up, one arm locked beneath his body, the other pinned to his flank. He was about to cry for help when Hopper landed him a heavy blow, directly to the middle of his chest, expelling the little air he had been able to catch.

As a police officer, Hopper was supposed to have rules. The final step was to immobilize the subject. But he had stopped being a policeman long ago. He did not contain himself, his anger burned inside him, he was not going to allow those cretins to break into Joyce's house at gunpoint, much less if they were the same ones that had been torturing him in recent weeks.

Anger came out of him, and the blows began to rain down on the Communist soldier, straight to the jaw, mercilessly and incessantly, one after another. He was sure that some teeth had cracked under his knuckles as they protested in pain, but he didn't stop until the body beneath him stopped moving. Completely limp. And the Russian's head jerked to the side, knocked out cold.

Hopper released the soldier disdainfully as he sat on the floor, trying to normalize his breathing while massaging his knuckles. Too much action for his still battered body. Then he heard noises coming from the other side of the house. "Joyce," he muttered, looking around for the Russian's pistol. He had work ahead.

* * *

Gradually, Joyce began to assimilate the situation. She was still terrified, she didn't know what could happen, and Jones was starting to get impatient.

"I will make it clear, Joyce. They want the girl. Do you know what that means?"

Joyce shook her head, still unable to speak.

"Well ..." He grabbed her arm, separating the distance between them, to look her in the eye. "If you are not useful, you are dispensable."

"Please, you don't have to do this." Joyce pleaded, scared to death. She needed to think of something and fast.

The woman made the mistake of looking at the wine bottle that was within her reach. If she could pick it up, she could use it against Jones. It was a terrible plan. He would probably shoot her before she was even able to grab the bottle, but she couldn't think of anything better.

"You're a bad girl." The agent said, immediately guessing her intention. He had followed her gaze, and although that desperate thought of the woman made him grin, the smile faded when he noticed a shadow reflecting in the bottle.

With a quick movement, Jones grabbed the woman and placed her in front of him as a human shield. Joyce exclaimed at the suddenness of the action, but she could barely react before having Jones's arm around her neck and feeling the cold metal of the gun's barrel resting on her temple.

"Smart girl. You were not alone after all,"

"You are. I'm afraid that your partner Smirnoff the third, won't be able to help you." Hopper stated, aiming a gun at him on the other side. "Let her go. Now."

"Or what?" Jones replied, almost challenging him.

Hopper adjusted his finger on the trigger. It was not the first time that he had faced a difficult situation with hostages. He had lived a case in New York and had no fond memories of it. The difference was abysmal. That time the hostage was a stranger to him. Not that he cared less about his life, his duty was to protect all citizens. The problem is that not knowing those involved helped him to keep a cool head and think more clearly.

"You know, the way you pick up the gun and that authoritative tone give you away. You're a cop." Jones stated, "I was a federal. I know how they train you for these situations. Trust me, nothing you're thinking is going to work here."

Hopper chuckled at that. "You have no fucking idea who you're dealing with, boy. I haven't crossed a fucking hell, survived hell beasts, and a herd of brainless soviets so that now a little lad with an air of superiority comes to tell me what I can or cannot do." Hopper darkened his voice. "Release her, because you know very well that at this distance I will not fail."

Jones raised his eyebrow but was not intimidated. "Ok. I will tell you what you are going to do. You either put the gun down or you risk shooting. You choose. I'm going to count to three."

For a second Hopper and Joyce's eyes met, and during that second, many phrases remained in the air that would probably never be said.

"One,"

Joyce noticed how the barrel of the pistol sank deeper into her head, and accidentally a squeak escaped her lips. _Moron_. She thought fearing that sound would make Hopper more nervous than he already was.

"Two,"

_Shit_. Hop thought, realizing that he would never dare pull the trigger and put Joyce at risk.

"Ok, ok ..." He said, lowering the gun. He had been a fool thinking that this bluff would work at all.

Jones chuckled. "Drop the gun."

Hopper did as he was told, and the other man smiled self-reliantly. "It is a pity. Seriously, I have nothing against you," The federal officer pointed the gun at Hopper. "I guess you were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"No!" Joyce yelled, stirring in fear. It was clear that the bastard was going to shoot him at point-blank range. Jones held her tighter. "Say Goodbye to him."

Suddenly, the phone ran distracting their attention. During that moment, Hopper did not hesitate and rushed at them. Jones tried to shoot him, but Joyce stepped on his foot, and the shot deflected past whistling near Hopper's head. He took the last few steps, and before Jones could fire again, he dealt a blow to his wrist, sending the gun flying.

"Son of a bitch!" The agent cursed as he threw Joyce against a nearby cabinet. Hopper was furious, he tried to land him a good right hook, but the federal was well trained and not only managed to avoid all of Hopper's attempts but he threw a knee to his stomach. The policeman doubled over in pain. It had not been a too strong blow, but it was very close to his wound. _Damn it._

Jones smiled maliciously, as he spotted Hopper's weakest point. He grabbed the shoulder of the policeman to straighten him. Violently, he punched the wound directly. Hopper felt a lash of pain run through his body, that wasn't going to end well. Jones threw him against a closet, holding him against it.

"This is going to be fun." Without further ado, he struck the wound repeatedly, without mercy or compassion. The pain was excruciating and finally, Hopper's legs gave up. His knees dug into the floor, and soon after, his entire body collapsed. Hopper huffed in pain as he felt like he had fallen on something hard.

Jones looked at him, proud of his work, knowing that he couldn't bother him anymore. "All right. Where were we going, dear?" He turned to go for Joyce and was met by the surface of a pan that struck his face, hard.

"Bitch!" He growled in surprise at the blow that made him stagger to the sink. Inexplicably, his pistol had ended up there. Before Joyce could hit him again, he picked it up and pointed it at her, making her stop and almost yelling in surprise.

"Last chance!" He shouted, angry. "Where is the damn girl?"

Joyce looked at the gun, then at Jones. His cold eyes made it clear that he was going to shoot anyway. "I would rather die than tell you."

And then, the sound of a shot rang out in the room.

**To be continued.**

**Thank you for reading. Comments are always appreciated. :)**


	20. Stay with me

**Hi there! Here is a new chapter for all of you. I hope you like it :)**

**Theindividualist: Hi! Yeah, I love cliffhangers, but this story doesn't have much of them, does it? ;)**

**afanofstrangerthingsandstuff: Thank you for your review. Well, yeah, English is not my first language (Spanish is) that's why I ask you not to be too hard on me if you see any grammatical error or lack of vocabulary. :)**

**And of course, thanks AnnieRavenclaw707 for her work beta reading this. Thank you very much! :) **

* * *

**Chapter 20: Stay with me.**

**.**

The roar of the shot had been tremendous. Joyce would have sworn that it was even louder than the normal sound if she had known what could be considered normal. The woman froze, her chest tightening. For a moment, the air in her lungs seemed to burn inside her. It was too much pressure, nerves, and anguish, all at the same time.

For a brief moment, everything froze around her. The thunder of the shot still echoed in her eardrums. She supposed it was all over, and that was right.

Jones collapsed hard on the ground, and Joyce cried. Too many emotions together. Behind her, she could see Hopper, still lying on the ground, but with a smoking gun in his hands.

Their gazes met for a few endless seconds. Joyce still trying to understand what had just happened, and Hopper relieved to see her standing, safe.

The moment of adrenaline passed, and the gun slipped from his fingers, falling hard to the floor. Overexertion was beginning to take its toll. He exhaled hard, as he reached to caress his battered wound. It seemed destined to never close.

"Oh, my God. Hopper!" Joyce almost screamed those words as she ran towards him. The woman knelt beside him, not quite knowing what to do. "You're hurt," She stated nervously, noticing a small red ring in the area of his wound, _his blood._

"You're hurt!" She reiterated hysterically.

"Joyce," Hopper started to say in a quiet voice. He didn't want to alarm her even more, nor bother his head, which felt as if it could explode, for his own sanity.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my GOD! What should I do ?!" She screamed, absolutely mad. "I'm going for what... I don't know!"

"Joyce! Shut up!" Hopper grunted. He didn't know what hurt more, the wound or his ears. "I'm fine."

"Stop saying that! You're not!" She replied in disbelief. "I'm going for the medical kit."

"No. Wait!" Hopper grabbed her arm, and she stopped in fear. It wasn't because of the gesture but Hopper's lack of strength. "Joyce, please," He pleaded, tired. "Go to the phone. Call Owens. Now."

She put her hand over his, knowing that she had to. But leaving him alone, even though the phone was only a room away, made her uneasy. "Hop, are you going to be ok?" The concern was sincere, and her voice could barely contain the emotion, it broke at the end as her eyes welled.

"Yeah, go." Hopper urged her. He needed this to end soon, and for this, the cavalry had to take care of the rest. She did not move an inch. "Joyce, I think I'm going to survive if you go two meters away." He said sarcastically, "For heaven's sake. I'm fine. It's nothing." His mouth forced a smile.

Finally, Joyce nodded and ran away. It was then that he could allow himself to relax his body against the floor. It was not as well as he thought. Also, his gaze couldn't stop looking at a specific point in the room. A bullet hole in a kitchen cabinet.

Jones and Hopper had fired almost at the same time. Maybe just a hundredth of a second apart. Enough so that the federal's shot was deflected just barely to miss. If it had taken only a hundredth of a second more, that bullet would be in Joyce.

The woman hadn't realized it. She was too upset to understand how close she had been. Of course, he couldn't blame her for it, but the bullet hole was there. Perhaps as a reminder to him.

* * *

Hopper seemed to be living a nightmare. The house was full of agents taking notes and photos. He understood those people were doing their job, of course, even he had had to break into the home of others, looking for evidence.

But the fact that they were doing it at Joyce's house, it made him sick. It was as if they were profaning a sacred temple. An unfortunate metaphor, he was not a believer after all. And then, there were the others, the paramedics.

"I had no choice." He said at last, as they raised Jones's corpse in the distance.

Owens sighed without looking at him, "I know, chief. I know." The doctor was very busy finishing re-stitching the wound. "There will be no report on this," He continued, as Hopper raised an eyebrow. "Your names won't come out, at least." He clarified, earning a look of gratitude from the police. The last thing Joyce needed right now was to fill out paperwork or make statements.

Hopper looked at the wound impatiently. Owens was too conscientious, and it just needed a patch.

"Don't be in such a hurry, cowboy. They have given you a good beating, and I have to secure all the tissue. Otherwise, it will take longer to heal." He said as if he could read his mind.

"You say they've given me a good beat? You should've seen how the other Soviet guy turned out." He answered, feigning mockery.

Owens chuckled at that. "I saw him when they took him away in handcuffs. But it turns out that the Soviet doesn't come from a damn prison after going through fucking hell. So yeah, you're screwed."

Hopper exhaled wearily. "Hey Doc, I have things to do and also a couple of calls to make. That's it."

"You have nothing to do. We have already checked the kids, they are fine. Joyce told me not to tell them. She wants them to enjoy this night without worrying until tomorrow while we take care of cleaning up this mess."

Hopper began to think that Owens had mind-reading powers, but he was still stubborn. "I have to..."

"What," The doctor purposely tugged more on the bead on the last remaining stitch. Hopper clenched his teeth. "Fuck…" He murmured without being able to finish the sentence.

Owens finished securing the stitches and then covered them with a bandage. "You need to rest, sleep. Don't worry about anything else. We will watch over the house and the children too."

Hopper was going to protest when the doctor showed him a bottle.

"And now, you're going to take this. It'll help you with the pain."

* * *

The doctor was right, the wound was pulling him, and he needed to rest. He took one last look around the room, as Owens gathered up his medical supplies, and the agents finished cleaning up the mess. Hopper sighed. He had no choice but to trust that they would take care of everything.

With difficulty, he entered the hall towards his room, but on his way, he saw the lights on in Joyce's room.

He was exhausted, but he didn't dare to go to sleep without checking that she was okay. The door was ajar, and he tapped lightly on it. No one answered. For a few moments, he hesitated about whether or not he should bother her until his own body forced him to hurry. Standing was a luxury, too expensive.

"Joyce?" He asked softly. The sound of a silent sob answered. He sighed as he dared to break her privacy and entered the room. The woman was lying on the bed with her back to him.

"Hey," He called her, sitting on the edge of the bed. He couldn't see her face but could observe how she tried to clean her nose, keeping some decorum.

"I know that it was a hell of a night but, it's all over, okay? Owens' men will be on duty all night, so you can… you can be calm, Joyce." He didn't know if he was saying those words to her or him.

The woman did not answer. He knew she was still crying silently from the sporadic spasms that her back did, and he did not know very well what to do or say, so he just stood there in silence for a while. But as the minutes passed, Hopper began to think that he was not going to last much longer, it became increasingly clear that the pills that the doctor had given him were not only for the pain.

"Joyce," He spoke when he saw that the spasms were less frequent. "I'll be in the next room if you need something you just have to call me."

"No." She said suddenly, turning in a bolt. Hopper was surprised by that sudden movement. He looked at his wrist, as Joyce held it tight as if it was a lifeboat on a shipwreck.

"Please don't go." The woman said in a thin voice. She was scared, no, rather terrified. No, neither that. It was odd, but sometimes it was hard to decipher Joyce Byers. What was true is that there was something at that moment that broke his heart, and that was seeing her like that. He was willing to do anything for her. Anything, at any time.

"Is there anything I can do?" He found himself asking.

Joyce looked at him. Those brown eyes pierced him completely. It was as if they could speak without words. And what they were saying was that she was desperate.

"Stay with me." She answered without further ado.

_He shouldn't. No. Of course not! Under no circumstances. But he couldn't leave her like that, right? No, no, no. Do not even think about it! You can't stay! Don't make this harder than it is. Go away! NOW!_

Joyce watched the man's hesitant gesture. "I don't want to be alone after what has happened. I'm going to go crazy Hopper." Tears reappeared in her eyes. "Please stay with me tonight. I'm just asking you that."

Hopper couldn't help but feel compassion. He regretted that she had to live something as horrible as that of that night, she did not deserve that.

He had no heart to leave her like this, and judging by his battered body, he didn't think he could stand up again either, so without a word he slowly lay down beside her.

It was a mistake, a tremendous mistake.

**To be continued.**

**Reviews are always welcome. :) ****Thank you for reading. **


	21. Duty of care

**Thank you for your follows and review. You're very kind. :) I was starting to think that maybe you got bored with this story.**

**Special thanks to my beta-reader AnnieRavenclaw707. She's just great!**

* * *

**Chapter 21: Duty of care.**

Joyce was staring at the wall. It was very odd. She wanted Hopper to stay with her, and now that he was there, she was panicking to face him. She didn't forget they had a pending conversation, but after they had been through that night, she had neither the will nor the courage to continue it.

At least, he had had the decency not to start it either, letting the silence surround them.

"Hopper," Joyce said after several minutes. An unintelligible murmur made her understand that he was still listening.

"I want you to know that, well, I don't know how to say it." Nervously, she protectively crossed her arms. "I was scared tonight."

"Don't be," his voice was almost inaudible. "It's already over." He concluded, exhaling profoundly.

"I know. But," Joyce stared blankly at the wall. It was true that she had been afraid, seeing how someone willing to shoot, point a gun right at you, can freeze anyone's blood. But she had also been scared for Hopper. When she saw how Jones was going to shoot him, at point-blank range, she felt as if someone were stabbing her soul. Just the thought about it, gave her the chills, shrinking her body even more.

"I can't stop watching him hit you. He could have killed you. Several times even. Hop, I don't want to think if that had happened. Oh, my God."

Her mind recreated, over and over again, those violent blows, so cruel. When Hopper felt broken and hurt, she felt faint.

The worst thing was to realize that this must be nothing compared to what would have happened weeks ago, as a prisoner of the Russians. Her stomach felt sick.

She began to understand why he wanted to get away from everyone and everything, including her, to live a quiet life with Eleven. But tonight he was by her side. And for now, that was enough.

She held in a new torrent of tears, and without knowing exactly how, her back had ended up resting on his side. She hoped he didn't mind, but she needed to felt him near her and make sure it wasn't an illusion. Hopper didn't say anything. He didn't even move.

Joyce bit her lower lip. It was ironic. It had been her who had recommended him, months before that, if he wanted to solve the relationship between Mike and El, he should talk to them, a heart to heart, she had said.

Yes, it was ridiculous that now, she was the one who couldn't find the courage to speak to him, a heart to heart.

Joyce swallowed hard. "Hop, I'm still afraid of losing you. What has happened before, well, earlier than before," She laughed nervously, not knowing why she was laughing at all. _Stupid_. "I don't want to lose your friendship. I want to know that we are fine. I understand that you want to start again, and I won't be the one to stop you." She felt a lump in her throat, it hurt to recognize it, but after all that he would have suffered, she could not hold him against his will. She had to let him go, even if it destroyed her. They were cursed.

"Please, I don't want to lose you, Hop. Tell me that, even if I go into debt to pay the phone bill, you will always be on the other side."

There was no answer. Hopper had always been a man of few words, but she expected him to say something, anything.

"Hop?" Joyce asked, confused. Frightened, she sat up to look at him and could not help being surprised to see him placidly asleep. _Seriously? Had he fallen asleep? Right now?_

"Hopper?" She tried again. This time with a light touch on the chest. Not the slightest movement. Like a log. After all, he must be exhausted, and Owens had suggested earlier that he would give him something 'strong' for the pain.

"Okay. It seems like you and I will never be lucky, right?" Joyce said, sighing as she took one last look at the man. Hopper had one of those faces that always seem to be angry, and yet now it was relaxed, sleeping like a baby. He could even pass for being a different person. The woman couldn't help but smile tenderly. "Good night, Hop." She said before turning off the light on the table.

"At least one of us is going to be able to rest. Consider yourself lucky." Joyce muttered, throwing a blanket over them as she snuggled in next to him. She knew she was not going to be able to sleep, but she was content to feel him close.

* * *

The hours continued to pass monotonously, extremely slow. Joyce counted them all, unable to sleep. For a moment, she was envious of Hopper. She was sure that if a tank passed nearby, he would continue sleeping, he had not even changed his posture.

The night was inching by. She had time to think about many matters, and also to imagine, even fantasize. Why did she do that to herself? All that could do was tear her battered heart even further. She was too engrossed in her thoughts that she barely noticed that Hopper's body began to come alive again.

Joyce opened her eyes at an unintelligible murmur. "Hop?" Soon those murmurs became something else, and then she knew what was happening. It was another of his nightmares. She felt stupid for not having known it before.

Every night, without exception, the nightmares returned since they rescued him. She hoped that, with the passing of the days, they would be less frequent, but it was not.

"Hop?" She called him again, preparing to sit up. Something was wrong, very wrong. Quickly his breathing began to accelerate, so she took him by the arm. "Hopper, you have to wake up. It's just a dream."

Nothing that Joyce said had the slightest effect. Maybe she couldn't wake him up. After all, he still had the medication Owens had given him in his system. Brilliant. She thought wryly. And now what? He couldn't spend the rest of the night like this, his breathing was so fast, that his pulse must be the same. That could cause a heart attack or something like that. God, Joyce, you always have to put yourself at the worst. But what if it happens? After all, he was not at his best health.

"Please, Hop! Wake up!" She pleaded, tapping his cheeks. She didn't want to move him too much, because she didn't want to make his nightmare worse. But what could she do?

* * *

Once again, Hopper found himself looking at the dark cliff below his feet. The sound of a furious breeze, behind him, made him guess that the shadow monster awaited him. Whatever he did, whatever he ran, it didn't matter. That creature always ended up trapping him in the same place, at the edge of the abyss.

"I told you that you would never run away from me. It's useless for you to continue resisting." He heard it say in his head. The man clenched his teeth and turned around to face his opponent.

"You know, this is starting to become a repetitive habit that is quite irritating. You can talk, so I suppose that even if I find it hard to believe, you are a rational being. And on the other hand, you can also beat me quite easily. What the hell are you playing? Why are you still there, why not just get this over with?" Hopper asked, clearly annoyed.

"Oh. Do you want us to play? Alright." The shadows began to gather, and before him, the figure of a man appeared. Hopper had to blink several times, it was sinister, but he had never seen him do that. The surprise didn't end there. Agent Jones was in front of him, looking at him defiantly.

"This is impossible. How can you be there? " The answer came to him immediately. "Get out of my head, son of a bitch!"

Jones smiled. "Oh, but this is fun. Don't you think?"

"This is not happening. None of this is real. I killed you!"

"Are you sure about it? Perhaps, you have made a nice story in your mind, not to assume what has happened." Jones spoke with a certain obscure mood.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I wasn't the one who died tonight."

* * *

Joyce was still shaking Hopper. There was no way to wake him from the nightmare. She didn't know what was going through his head in that terrible dream, but it was worse than the previous ones. Suddenly, something changed. His body turned from muttering to being agitated. Joyce didn't know why she did it, but the situation was so desperate that she slapped him hard. The kind that hurts just by hearing the blow.

* * *

Fear turned to anguish and anguish to anger, and then his brain stopped thinking. Hopper had only one last objective in mind; it was him or that monster. One of them was not going to get out of there alive.

Hop lunged at Jones furiously, and blinded by anger began to throw fists at him, completely mad. The view changed again, and they were back on the edge of the precipice. Both began to struggle, and without seeing it coming, Hopper felt a sharp slap that made him lose his balance.

"Holy shit!" He screamed as the ground disappeared under his feet. They had reached the edge of the ravine, and the both of them fell.

With a last effort, he reached out, and his fingers managed to hold on the edge. His eyes looked down, just to see how the shadow monster released one of its tentacles. It coiled firm, around Hopper's ankle.

"Argh!" The man growled as a lash of pain ran through his entire body. The muscles of his arms tensed, supporting the weight of both of them. He wasn't going to last much longer.

"Like a shadow, you should return to the abyss you came from!" He shouted. "If I should fall to destroy you," He continued, releasing one of his hands. "Then, so be it!"

The monster growled as Hopper finally release his other hand. The sudden loss of weight, made the creature to release him as they felt.

For an instant, Hopper felt relieved. It was all over at last. And just when he thought he was headed for his doom, someone grabbed his hand, stopping his descent. He watched as the monster disappeared, into the abyss. Confused, he looked up. Joyce was holding him.

"Joyce?!" He asked, amazed.

"Hopper, please! Wake up!"

"What?" He asked puzzle, as Joyce pulled him up.

* * *

Joyce tugged on his arm with all her might, rising him into a sitting position, and suddenly Hopper opened his eyes.

"Are you ok?" She asked, truly concerned. "You didn't wake up! It was scaring, Hop!"

He was panting, gasping for air as if he had run a marathon. But this time, his eyes were not lost or disoriented. They were fixed on her, with a look she had never seen before.

"Hopper why ...?" She didn't understand why he was looking at her like that. She hadn't hit him so hard, had she?

Before the woman could finish the question, he enveloped her in his arms.

His mind had put aside his reasoning, and he was carried away by his emotions. He just saw her die, in front of him, without doing anything to avoid it. Without being able to protect her.

"You can talk about it if you want to," Joyce said as he placed his head on top of hers.

"You could have died tonight." He stated, with a hint of worry.

"You too." She pointed out.

Hopper pulled her even closer to him, in a protective bear hug. "I saw it happen." He confessed.

_And It was terrible, Joyce! What would have happened if I had not been there to protect you? That asshole would have killed you! I couldn't allow that, ever again. To hell with destiny, with second chances, and with the rest of the universe. His duty was to serve and protect, and that included Joyce Byers as well, and how was he going to protect her hundreds of miles apart?_

"Me too. I mean, I thought you died months ago in the Starcourt Russian base." Joyce replied. "So don't think that you're the knight in shining armor."

"I never said that."

"I know you, Hop. You're thinking about it! I never need that, and I never will!"

Of course, she doesn't need any kind of help. She was Joyce Byers, the single mother who raised two great kids, alone, in a gossiping town called Hawkins.

For a moment, Hopper thought she was going to pull him away, but instead, she dug herself deeper into his chest.

"I don't want you to be hurt, that's all." He replied, caressing her hair. "That's what teams do, take care of each other's backs."

She raised an eyebrow. "So, that's what we are now? A team?"

"We were always a team, Joyce." He replied, matter of factly.

"Detective Byers for you."

* * *

**Sorry for the delay in updating this, ****I'm having a writer block :(**** Please, if you have time, it would be great to leave a comment or something, Thanks. **


	22. November 12th

**Thank you for keep reading this crazy story. Special thanks to the people how left a comment. I appreciate them. **

**MaeBlueJay: Thank you for your words. Where is Mike? Mike is in Hawkins. But... perhaps... who knows? ;)**

**000crazytime: Yeah... they've waited a lot of time. I'm just an evil writer. lol. **

**I want to thank AnnieRavenclaw707 for beta read this story. I don't have words to say how kind she is :)**

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**CHAPTER 22: NOVEMBER 12TH**

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The night had been an authentic roller coaster of emotions, but after the storm, there is always calm. Neither of them had been able to go back to sleep, but this time the cause was quite different than before. Each one was lost in their thoughts, not knowing what their next step would be.

Hopper had made coffee. Keeping himself busy, it helped him to avoid thinking, or saying anything stupid. Lately, it seemed like he was becoming an expert at it. On the other hand, he wanted to avoid the trauma to Joyce of having to go into the kitchen. Everything was very recent, and he knew from experience, that going back to a crime scene, no matter how clean they left it, is not pleasant, much less if it is your own home.

He found Joyce sitting on the sofa in the living room. She was so engrossed that she got frightened when Hopper offered her a cup. "Holy shit, Hop! I'm going to put a rattle on you like a cat! I haven't heard you coming!"

"Well, I'm not particularly silent. And I think you can also see me at a distance." He replied, pointing to his height with pretended pride to downplay the matter. He was trying to hide his growing concern that Joyce would get scared so easily.

She quietly sipped her coffee. Surprisingly it was good, quite good. Or maybe being the first hot drink in hours made it taste better.

"What did you put in this?" Joyce asked after a while.

Hopper gave her a half-smile. "Oh, it's my special formula for morning coffee. I'm not going to reveal my secret that easily."

Joyce raised a brow sarcastically but couldn't help but smile back. That boastful tone, which she hated so much in the past, was now music to her ears. It seemed that night had changed something, something important. Somehow, he had regained his self-confidence, and he was beginning to sound more like the old Hopper she knew, and who somehow she missed.

"I missed this," Hopper stated, surprising Joyce. Were they thinking the same thing?

"What?" She asked a bit concerned.

"Mornings should always be for coffee and contemplation." Yeah. He missed his old, boring life.

Joyce looked down at her cup. "Well, you already have the coffee. I wonder what you will contemplate now."

He chuckled. "Don't be jealous, but the clock on the wall behind you is stealing my contemplative attention."

"Of course. It is difficult to compete with a cheap watch bought on sale."

They both smiled, feeling that they had traveled back in time.

"I guess, that for now, it's the only thing I can offer," Hopper said after a pause.

Joyce looked back at him, confused. "What?"

"The coffee." He replied, smiling, although she could see that his gaze was a mixture of melancholy and doubt. "Who knows if maybe I can offer you a coffee every morning." He stated, trying to test the waters.

Joyce coughed the last sip of her drink. _What the hell was that? Did it sound like... commitment? Yes, that statement summed up in that single word._

"Well, only if you don't choke on it." He said, laughing nervously.

Joyce looked at him thoughtfully and set the cup down on the coffee table. "Less than twelve hours ago, you didn't think the same."

"I suppose a lot has happened in less than twelve hours." He pointed out. "Things that make you see life with a little more perspective, I guess,"

Joyce bit her lip. She knew that the only thing that had made him change his mind was knowing that she might have died that night. It was not very clear who had saved who, but she knew that he felt guilty. And that unnerves her.

"Hopper, I don't want you to feel compelled to be here." _With me?_ She added in her mind.

The man narrowed his gaze. "I don't see anybody forcing me into anything."

"You already know what I mean."

"No. I don't know, and that's the problem, Joyce." He responded with a sigh. Why did she always misinterpret him? Was it not clearly stated?

"I don't want you to be with me because you feel sorry for me or because you feel compelled to do so. Culpability doesn't last a lifetime, Hop. The only thing we would achieve is to be unhappy."_ Seriously? Did you just say lifetime? What's wrong with you, Joyce!_

The man looked at her incredulously. His mouth opened to respond, probably some outrage, but it closed again. Finally, he could only ask about the only thing he had on his mind. "Are you standing me up? Again?"

"For heaven's sake. Still with that?" Joyce rolled her eyes. It was as if the last damn four months hadn't existed. On the one hand, she liked to think that Hopper had returned to his old self, but not exactly to the old self who was still mad at her for that nonsense! "I didn't leave you standing up. I had to check what happened to my magnets. And, hey, it turned out to be important!" Definitely, that sounded better in her head.

"Of course," Hopper replied, fussing too dramatically. He couldn't believe that Joyce was still holding onto such a poor pretext. "I always thought that any excuse was good rather than commit to anything. You're afraid of commitment Joyce, that's your damn problem. Last night, you didn't seem to hesitate so much, but of course, there were still no compromises on the table. I'm telling you now, and you're already running away!"

Joyce blinked incredulously at what she was hearing. "Are you talking about commitment? You? Jim Hopper. The same Jim Hopper who has fucked half of Hawkins. They even talk about Marissa, the grouch librarian. Seriously? Well, I'm not one of your conquests of one night. I'm not that easy!" Joyce regretted those words as they came out of her mouth. She had spoken without thinking.

Hopper hadn't been the same since… well, ever since he became a single parent by surprise. To reproach him that, now, was unfair, a very low blow. She was going to apologize, but it was too late. He was a man too easy to provoke.

"Now, I understand. Crystal clear. You never really gave me a chance because that's what you think of me. You think I'm another Loonie." His voice was low but he was spatting all of the words, hurt. It was becoming clear that it didn't matter what he said or did. She would never see him for what he really was.

"I haven't said that." She responded, trying to sound calmer this time. She was not going to be obfuscated again.

"Of course not. So even though I was still there, with you. You were running away because you are looking for someone opposite. I don't know, let me think... Oh, yes, someone who didn't have a damn traffic citation, someone boring but, according to you, trustworthy, someone like…"

"Shut up!" Joyce roared. She had heard enough. "Don't you dare mention Bob! He was a good man. If I didn't go to the stupid date, it was because I hadn't yet recovered from his loss. It was too soon, Hopper. Dammit!"

The man fell silent but held her gaze stoically, even knowing he was in a battle that was not going to win in any way. "Do you think that if I had considered you another Loonie, would I have even let you get close to my children? Do you think I would have let you into my house? You have no idea Hopper, no idea!"

Ok, the hurt was already done. Words were not his virtue, so before pressing her further, he decided to keep quiet and let her vent.

Joyce crossed her arms and tried to sink deeper into the sofa, praying that the soft surface would absorb her so she could disappear from there.

The Hopper from four months ago would have gotten angry, and probably would have lit a cigarette outside the house, putting distance between them. Unfortunately, he had quit smoking, not of his own free will. Nor had he gone through so much to get up for an argument. He waited a reasonable time. Enough to find the right words.

At least, Hopper knew he had a chance to reply because Joyce hadn't moved off the couch. After all, he was good at reading and interpreting gestures. Too many years of police service. She was surely expecting an answer.

"You're right. I'm not a good man."

That was not what Joyce expected to hear. All the anger she had was gone in a moment.

"I have made a lot of mistakes in my life, too many to keep count. But I'm not a bad man either. I'm just a little stupid once in a while. A stupid man who cares about you. If you think this is a one-night conquest, you are wrong." He stopped for a moment. _God, it was extremely difficult. A very good friend of his advised him once to talk with the heart. Does he have a heart? If he did, he'd forgot about it._

"I can't erase my past, but I can write my present. I can't pretend to be a reliable man. I am not attentive, and I never remember important dates. But I can tell you something," Joyce didn't know how he had done it, but Hopper was inadvertently sitting next to her.

"I'm a man who would always be by your side. Protecting you. Because that's what I do. What happened tonight has indeed changed my mind, but no, I don't feel sorry for you, Joyce, what I feel is ..." _And now he was talking about feelings? Two years ago he would have made them disappear with a bottle of pills._ He sighed. "You may think I'm an idiot, but being alone these months... Deep inside, I knew El would be fine. So the only thing that kept me from going crazy, was thinking about our stupid date. I thought of it as a purpose. After all, I couldn't die and leave you standing up in Enzos, you know?" His brows furrowed. "And then I realized why El hated the word 'soon' so much." He smiled sadly, it was as if he was recreating himself in his memories.

Joyce's gaze was fixed on him. _Please, Hop, don't you dare to put now your puppy sorry face. No... please, don't!_

"I'm not a good man, Joyce, but I can try to be one. If you want."

Joyce couldn't articulate a word. He had just made an authentic heart-to-heart speech by himself. Without help. In a way, she was even proud. And how the hell was he so close?

"Today is November 12th," Joyce stated.

Hopper raised an eyebrow, confused.

"I want you to remember the date." She clarified.

"That means… ?" He began to ask. His face was a real poem. A happy puppy face you might say.

She nodded smiling. "And I also want that damn coffee every morning."

"I hope you don't want to be with me out of interest."

"Hopper ..."

"Uhuh..."

"Shut up."

She gave him a half-smile and before she knew it, his lips were on hers in an untamed kiss that was full of what was still to come, and she welcomed it. At first, he was gentle, exploring her lips slowly. He took his time before making his way lower. Her head fell back when his lips scorched a path down the line of her jaw towards her neck. She couldn't control herself and she felt over the sofa, followed by him. Their breathings were heavy.

"We're destroying our friendship." She admitted.

"To hell with it." He murmured and he brought back his lips back to hers, devouring her.

Joyce had run her hand and was clutching his head and hair, needing more as if her very existence depended on what they were sharing.

"Joyce..." He spoke against her neck. "Come back with me."

She opened her eyes in shock. "Where?"

He pulled away, resting his hands at her waist, looking at her closely. "To Hawkins."

The woman was suddenly horrified. She was about to protest when shouting could be heard outside the house.

"What happened? Are they ok?!" Jonathan screamed as the kids approached the porch.

The locks on the door opened by themselves. The adults jumped to their feet, fast enough to avoid being caught red-handed. Eleven was the first to enter. Scanning the room desperately.

"Hi, Kid." He stated, but her response was a very tight hug.

"You, ok?" The girl asked looking up at him.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're fine."

Eleven looked at him, worried. "You're sweating and you breathe fast. Have you been running?"

"What?!" Eleven was a bad speaker but he could not deny that she paid close attention to everything. "You scared me with the door thing! Kid, It's polite to call before entering!" Hopper looked at the woman in the room, searching for help. "Joyce. We're fine, right?"

Their gaze fixed. He wasn't asking just to reassure the girl. No, of course not! He was looking for a sign that everything was fine between them. She was silent for a few seconds.

"Joyce?" Eleven asked a bit worried, and without pulling away from Hopper.

The woman gave him one last look of _'You're a damn schemer, we'll talk later.'_ "Yeah, honey. We're fine."

**To be continued.**

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**Ok, I want to ask you if you would like to read a Hawkins part of this story. Otherwise, I'm afraid it's comming to an end. vOv You can leave a comment ;)**


	23. They're not kids anymore

**Thank you very much for your reviews, it's always nice to hear from you. And I hope you all review this chapter too ;) let me know what do you think!**

**Guest1: I'm very happy to hear that. Ok, I will continue with this crazy story.**

**Guest2: Thank you for your kind words! **

**000crazytime: Ok. Take a seat for the next chapter then ;P**

**I also want to thank 'AnnieRavenclaw707', my beta reader, for been so kind to me :)**

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**Chapter 23: They're not kids anymore.**

.

The day had been very emotional. They had been narrating what had happened last night. Hopper had had to do most of the story because Joyce was still somewhat affected. Hearing it from another perspective it seemed as if it hadn't happened to her.

The man was avoiding almost everything that happened. It was a very sugar-coated version of the events. Better that way. He had barely gone into horrific details, but El almost panicked, knowing they had been in danger. The guilt for not being there for them haunted her, so she became Hopper's shadow, chasing him around the house wherever he went. The thought of losing him again terrified her. Hopper teased her, calling her the yellow duckling.

So it seemed very strange to Joyce to find her sitting on the sofa, next to Will, watching a movie. A western. In recent months, Joyce had discovered that the girl loved western movies. She couldn't understand how someone at her age could have such rare tastes. She assumed that living with Hopper for that long made you share strange tastes in things.

Sighing, Joyce sat next to them on the sofa. Thinking that she could finally have a moment of tranquility. How naive. Eleven shook her head, and the volume on the TV went up on its own.

"Hop is being odd," The girl stated without even taking her eyes off the television.

"No. He's just tired. We couldn't sleep today," Joyce replied. It was absurd to say he wasn't. She supposed the girl would know better about Hopper's mood swings.

"You are acting weird too." Will pointed out. _Shit. They had conspired against her._

"Are you lying to us?" El asked without beating around the bush.

"Lie? Why would we lie?" Joyce answered, with a fake smile.

Eleven turned on the sofa to get a better look at her. "When Hop lies to me, he does it to protect me. Or so he thinks. I know he's lying now, and you're helping him. We aren't children anymore."

"Honey, I think you are exaggerating," Joyce replied, trying to defend herself.

"There were lots of police outside the house when we arrived this morning. They were watching. Why would they watch so much if it was nothing?" Will replied, raising his voice.

"Ok. Yes." Joyce admitted. The kids were clever. "It was something a little more dangerous."

Will panicked. "Could you have died?" He asked.

Joyce turned and stared at the movie. _How she had come to that situation? Being asked that by her son, while a cowboy galloped in front of her. Those old movies always ended well, the boy and the girl ended up together and living happily ever after. Why did those things only happen in the movies?_

Eleven crossed her arms. She didn't need to hear the answer. "I knew it. I knew it wasn't a good idea to leave you alone."

"No one knew this was going to happen. And, for heaven's sake, we are adults. You are the children, your job is to go out and enjoy life, without having to worry about us." Since how long had life become so bizarre to have to say that?

Eleven hesitated. "And if we had come back this morning and... I can't lose again ... I don't… no…" The girl didn't finish the sentence, she didn't want to express with words her greatest terror right now. To be alone again, and to lose the people she cared about.

Joyce hugged her. "Honey. We are here, safe and sound, okay? That is what matters now. Don't think about things that haven't happened."

"Yet," El added. "I don't want to lose you both. I already lost Hop once and it was horrible."

"I know, honey."

"I just want to have a family."

Joyce pulled away. "Hey. You already have one." She replied, offering her a tender smile.

Eleven looked at the woman, confused. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jersey and continued to stare at Joyce in silence before continuing. "You, Jonathan, and Will are one family." She said after a while.

"Yes, we are. But you are also part of it."

Eleven was still just as confused. "And Hop?"

_Ouch._ Joyce thought. This conversation was going much faster than she intended it. This time, it was Will who turned to look at his mother.

* * *

Hopper was examining the fridge. He would have to improvise with what little there was, to be able to offer a decent dinner. In those cases, when they were only him and El, he would have taken some Eggos as an emergency solution. But now, they were more, and to add a problem, Joyce still did not want to enter the kitchen. He didn't have a problem with that, but, to be honest, her cooking skills were better.

"Do you need help with that?" Jonathan asked behind him.

"Well, if you know how to do miracles, I need one right now," Hopper replied, dropping some ingredients on the kitchen table.

Jonathan looked annoyed at the poor box of eggs that the other man was unpacking. "Oh shit. Sorry. With everything that happened today, I didn't even remember that I had to go shopping."

Hop was surprised at that reaction. That boy seemed truly frustrated by that absurd detail. He had never thought about it, but Jonathan was the man of the Byers house. Despite being so young, he had had to mature faster than other boys his age to carry that responsibility. One more thing to reproach Loonie for, stealing his own son's childhood. Jerk.

Hopper sighed. "Hey. It's okay, kid. We can always put less on Will's plate." He replied wryly.

The boy smiled briefly, watching patiently as the other man put a pan on the fire.

"So?" Hopper asked curiously.

The boy scratched his head a little embarrassed. "Actually, I wanted to talk with you."

"I know. I don't think you're bored enough to come to see how I fry an egg."

"I, uh ... well ... I wanted to ask if ..." Jonathan was silent, and seeing how Hopper looked at him seriously, he felt quite stupid. But he just couldn't find the right words to ask what he wanted to know, politely. "Look, forget it." He declared defeated.

Hopper raised an eyebrow, surprised that the boy didn't dare speak to him. "If you go now, you are going to feel like an idiot during the whole dinner. What you have to ask, ask it." He advised him, "Also, what kind of journalist would you be if you don't?"

Jonathan snorted nervously. "Look. I don't want to screw everything up. But, I'm concerned. Okay? Also, it had been a long time since I saw my mother like that and… I want to know what happened."

Hopper moved the pan, almost relieved that that was the question. The boy was so nervous that he feared the worst. "I've already told you before,"

"No." Jonathan shook his head. "My mother wanted to prepare something. She told me to take the kids to the movies and then to the Thompsons' house to ... surprise you. She wanted to cheer you up. I don't know if… did that happen?"

The man turned to face him. Now he was looking at him with his best police face. Jonathan gulped. Hopper had always instilled in him respect, he was the most authoritative figure he knew. And although in recent years he had become someone closer, he couldn't help but see him like that, like the kind of people you don't have to screw with. But if his mother was involved, he was not going to be intimidated, not even by someone like Hopper.

"What are you implying, kid?"

"Is there something between you and my mother?" He dared to say, without further ado.

"Excuse me?" He asked, trying to make the boy develop his true question.

Jonathan pointed at his face. "I have eyes. I can see how you look at each other, and I'm not a child."

Hopper took his time to respond, as he took the food out of the pan to plate it.

"You are right, you are not a child so I won't treat you as such." He replied, fixing his gaze on the boy. "I understand that you are concerned about your mother. It's normal. About your question… well, I think there might be something." His eyes were locked on the boy's, he needed to see his reaction. Jonathan blinked but still said nothing, concern was evident on his face.

Hopper approached him. "If you have any objections, I guess is your right."

"My mother has suffered a lot."

"I know."

"Look what I mean is that... I, I'm glad you're well and all that. And I appreciate all you have done for us these past few years. But, my mother has very bad luck with men and, in the end, she always ends up suffering. And the one who has to collect the pieces is me, you know?"

"Ok. I'm not an exemplary man. Apparently, everyone at Hawkins knows that." He remarked sarcastically, Joyce's reproaches were still fresh in his mind. "But if there is something that I am very clear about, it's that I care about your mother, and the last thing I want, in this damn world, is to hurt her."

"Swear it to me."

Hopper was confused by that request but did not hesitate. "I swear."

Jonathan nodded, and Hopper looked at him confused. "Is that enough? Do you trust me?"

The boy smiled at him. "I know you're a man of his word. You swore you would find Will, and you did. Yes, for me it's enough. And to be honest, If my mother has decided that you are good for her, I couldn't make her change her mind even in a million years. She is very stubborn."

* * *

Dinner had been very unusual. Despite the various jokes about how sad it was to eat fried eggs, and that it was because of Hopper's poor skills in the kitchen, the rest of the dinner had been very tranquil. Too much considering that three young people were sitting in it.

Hopper finished washing the dishes and walked yawning to his room. Everyone had already gone to sleep. Thank God. He turned off the television just as the credit titles were showing the name of John Wayne. That produced a stupid smile on his face. He felt more and more at home, so he begged the heavens not to spoil it again.

He groped his way into his room and was surprised to see Joyce, in his bed.

"Joyce?" He muttered in surprise. "What are you doing?" He continued, closing the door, and silently praying that indeed the children were in their respective rooms.

"Waiting for you. What do you think?"

"The children are out there, you know?" He responded, pointing to the closed door.

"Stop being such an idiot and come here."

"We don't even fit in the same bed." He said, with doubts.

"I think we can work on it," Joyce stated as she turned to an edge, offering him her back.

Hopper raised an eyebrow. "You're incredible, Joyce."

"I know." She replied.

"No. I mean, this is not credible at all."

"Oh, came on,"

Hopper lay down on the bed, and he spooned her, draping his arm across her waist. It was incredible that despite the difference in size, both bodies fit together perfectly.

He whispered in her ear, "Is this okay?" Nodding, she wriggled back against him.

Hopper sighed. "What if they come in all of a sudden?"

Joyce was smiling incredulously. "They won't."

"Hey, the yellow duckling doesn't quite understand the thing about how to knock before entering. I speak from experience."

Joyce couldn't help but laugh. "I can't believe that three children manage to terrify Jim Hopper. Seriously, you should look at yourself in a mirror."

"Jonathan knows it. And the other two have been very quiet at dinner." Hopper told concerned. "Do you think they know it too?"

"I'm afraid so."

Hopper gave an unexpected bolt that Joyce managed to stop it by grabbing his shoulder. "Hey, hey. It's ok."

"What am I supposed to say to El?" His voice has a hint of urgency. "I hadn't thought about it!"

"It's like they keep saying, they're not kids anymore, Hop. Also, I think they're just ok about it."

Hopper sighed and dropped his head back onto the pillow. They looked at each other for a moment, as if they were two teenagers again.

"If you keep looking at me like that, I will never be able to sleep," Hopper whispered.

Joyce smiled. "I can help you with a good night kiss."

"Hmm... That could help."

Without hesitation, her lips searched for his. His lips were gentle at first, but soon they entrapped hers with fiery heat that created strange and wonderful sensations inside her. Joyce's hand came to rest on his hip, slipping under his pajamas, she needed to feel the touch of his skin. To be sure that this was not a mirage.

His fingers caressed the back of her neck as he held her very close, pressing his long body against her, and said huskily against the skin of her neck. "Joyce…" He lifted his mouth to her ear. "Hawkins?"

She pulled away. "Hey. Don't go so fast, cowboy."

Hopper exhaled tiredly. "Ok then. Jimmy the cowboy is going to sleep now, but... he will ask again tomorrow."

For the moment she settled on his chest, relaxing with his breathing. "You're such a child..."

**To be continued.**

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**Thank you for keep reading it. I appreciate all your comments and reviews :) Next Chapter... Hawkins? **


	24. Welcome to Hawkins

**Thank you for your time in reading this story. I was going to finish it some chapters ago but... what the hell. Welcome back to Hawkins. ;) Thanks for your reviews as always.**

**crazytime000: Hey... Jimmy the cowboy won :_D**

**AnnieRavenclaw707: Thank you for being such a wonderful beta-reader ;)**

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**Chapter 24: Welcome to Hawkins.**

**.**

Three weeks had passed. Weeks in which the world had changed. It was strange to think about how your life can change so much and so quickly.

Joyce looked out the window of the moving truck. It was not very clear that this was the right thing to do. She didn't understand how Hopper could miss a place where he had suffered so much. They had barely just rescued him from the Soviet laboratory in Hawkins, and he wanted to go back? Why?

They had talked a lot about it, too much, until exhaustion. If something got into his head, Hopper would do anything to get it. He had tried to convince her to come back. In every possible way. Every. Possible. Childish. Way.

The last straw was realizing that no matter how hard she tried, she could never return to normal. Not in that house. Damn, she wasn't even able to get into her kitchen. She couldn't live in a place where she knew someone had died. Not when every corner reminded you of that distressing moment. _Hey, can you pass me the salt? Where is it? Yes, right there. Right in the same place where they beat you up while you bled? No, wait. It's in the other closet, where I almost got shot. It was ridiculous._

It was then when Hopper took the opportunity to tell her that Gary already had a house ready in Hawkins. The worst part was when they joined forces between him and the kids. It was evident that the only one who didn't want to go back there was her. Jonathan didn't care about Hawkins, but he had a good reason, with even a name, Nancy. And that was enough for him to join forces with Hop's evil plan.

On the other hand, Will hated the new school, and of course, he wanted to see his old friends again. And El, well, this is when Hopper almost regretted his suggestion, horrified. The girl just wanted to be with Mike. Three inches away were better than miles away, right?

That's when Hopper called Gary again. He needed him to find another house, as far away as it was possible from the Wheelers. He didn't care if he was on the outside of town or in the middle of a mountain. God, sometimes, Joyce wondered who was the most immature of all, the kids or him.

Joyce leaned against the window of the vehicle. They were getting close. The landscape behind the windows was more and more recognizable. Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. The woman had only agreed to that madness when Hopper, after infinite attempts, managed to find the right speech. _'Joyce, it doesn't matter where we are. What matters is that we are all together.'_ Together. It was a very simple word. It sounded good but incredibly strange.

Her eyes watched as a sign began to draw on the side of the road. 'Welcome to Hawkins'.

Hopper looked at her out of the corner of his eye. There was too much silence in the truck, and although he had enjoyed driving with Jim Croce's voice in the background, he was beginning to be concerned about Joyce's mood.

He released one hand from the steering wheel to warmly take her. "Hey,"

Joyce squeezed his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. "Hop, I don't think it's a good idea. Maybe if we call Gary again, we can still go back and,"

"Joyce," He quickly interrupted her, "Everything is going to be alright, okay?"

She nodded, but when Hopper tried to get his hand back, she didn't release it. "But what if it doesn't go well. I can think about a million reasons to think it will go wrong."

For a moment, he looked away from the road to look at her. "I have a very good one for you."

"Oh, yeah?" Needless to say much more. In the past few weeks, they had learned to speak with their eyes, and words were less and less necessary. Hopper approached her to steal a quick kiss from her lips before turning his eyes back to the road.

"Puahgg..." A voice said behind them. "Seriously, could you stop now? You're disgusting." Will said from the back seat. El laughed at his side, she had to admit that it felt very strange to witness that, but the more she saw it, the more she liked it. After all, she had the perfect excuse. If Hop ever reproached her for kissing Mike, now she could blame him for doing the same with Joyce. It was great. An infallible plan that she was wishing she could implement as soon as possible. How much was left to get to Hawkins?

Joyce cleared her throat, they had forgotten, for the umpteenth time, that the children were in the back seats. She looked ahead and could see the town in the distance. Also a service station with a small restaurant next to it. The Standford restaurant. She knew it.

"Hop. What if we stop for a moment to refuel?"

"But we are almost there."

"Yes, but-"

Hopper did not want to pressure her. He knew perfectly well that it was a way to delay the inevitable. Do anything before entering Hawkins. He thought that giving her that ridiculous lifeline was a trifle they could afford, and he was also a little tired from the trip. "Ok then. A little gasoline will be good for the truck, after all, we have to return it."

"Great. I was getting hungry." Will said to an impatient El who just rolled her eyes in annoyance.

* * *

Hopper looked at the gas pump, lost in thought. It was almost a quarter of an hour since they had finished eating. He couldn't believe it took them so long to get dessert while he filled up the gas tank, so he took a deep breath, and thought that he could afford the enjoyment of contemplation.

After all, he was in no rush to arrive, but he had been living alone for a long time that it was weird to have to be waiting for what, his family? The thought made him dizzy. El had been a great step in his battered life, but now it was a real mountain to climb. He was so engrossed that he was slow to hear a small commotion coming from the small parking lot next to the restaurant.

His instincts made him turn his head towards the noise, and since he had no better thing to do, he approached the tumult. His surprise was huge when he saw a new police Blazer parked there. New model. It abruptly dawned on him that his old car had exploded in the middle of nowhere.

Suddenly, he began to think that maybe Joyce was right about all this. That dose of reality had slapped him hard across the face. _What did you expect? Life goes on and Hawkins would not stand still for you._

He got closer to the parking lot and saw how two policemen, whom he did not know, were holding a young boy. It had to be very serious. What had that boy had done to need three policemen, and two of them holding him as if he were a true criminal. What had happened at Hawkins in the past few months? It was a boring town, he did not even remember what had been the last serious arrest he had had to face. The worst he remembered was the disappearance of Mrs. Larsons' garden gnomes. A great loss, of course.

He walked over to the scene in front of him, almost like a habit. The boy continued to protest until he turned to him and suddenly fell silent. Both were shocked.

"Steve?" Hopper asked, surprised to see the boy in that situation. Yes, of course, he remembered that the young man was incredibly annoying, but he was not a criminal, and in his opinion, any childishness he could have done did not deserve the treatment he was being given.

"Well, well ... are you speechless, Harrington?" The third policeman said. He was wearing a brown uniform and a damn gold badge on his chest. The new chief, Hopper presumed. "Who is this? Your father?" The chief asked, looking curiously through the lenses of his sunglasses.

Steve was unable to articulate a word. He thought he was seeing a damn ghost. Had he been hit so hard that he was starting to see visions?

Hopper approached the one he called his substitute. He just wanted to take a good look at him. He was a small, clean-shaven guy with fairly short hair, something unusual, and out of fashion in those years were wearing short hair was synonymous with illness or boring.

"May I ask what he's supposed to have done?" Hopper said looking at the plate on his shirt. "Chief ... Hartman?"

Hartman smiled self-reliantly. And put his hands on his waist. "Well well ... this idiot thinks he is above the law. Disrespect of the authority is a crime, Mister…?"

Hopper narrowed his eyes. He expected something more substantial. Disrespect for authority? Harrington? What had he done? Call him a moron? It was ridiculous.

"I think this must be a misunderstanding. Harrington is not a bad boy, he's just a little bigmouth, nothing more." Hopper said in disbelief. He supposed it might be a little warning, but he had seen that one of the policemen already had handcuffs ready in his hands.

"I don't think so. And if you don't mind. We have work to do." Without further ado, Hartman turned around, ending the conversation.

Hopper snorted angrily. Not that he was trying to help the young man, but seeing that injustice simply boiled his blood. "Work to do? Scaring kids is your damn job?"

The chief stood still. "Excuse me?" He said turning to face Hopper, and this time he took off his sunglasses to get a better look at him, revealing brown eyes that looked incandescent.

"Can you repeat that? Sir?" He said in a rather intimidating tone.

Hopper was certainly not going to be threatened, least of all by someone of the worst sort.

"What? Didn't you get enough attention as a child that now you're trying to abuse your authority? Why don't you mess with someone your own size? Scare kids, what a shame."

"Yeah. You're right."

Hartman gestured to the other policemen, who quickly released Steve. Hopper thought it had been too easy. He was wrong, of course. Nothing in the past few months had been easy. Then, the policemen approached him, and the one with the handcuffs did not keep them. What the hell.

"Hey, what the fuck do you think you are doing?" He demanded unnerved.

Hartman put on his sunglasses back. "You have the right to remain silent."

"You're kidding, right? What are you accusing me of?"

"The assault on a law enforcement officer."

Hopper widened his eyes. "That's a lie! And I even have a witness," He looked around searching for Steve, but the boy had vanished. _Seriously? Damn toupee with legs._

"You, sir, have verbally attacked an agent of the law. I suggest that you don't continue doing this show, or I will have to file more charges against you. In this town, the law is respected."

Hopper watched the other policeman approach him with the handcuffs, and then the air lacked in his lungs. The endless days in the Russian jail, the interrogations, the pain, and the agony were still very fresh in his memory. Everything always started with handcuffs, so he felt threatened, just imagining being imprisoned again didn't let him think clearly. No way that was happening to him again. No way! His fist went straight to the policeman's jaw.

The other officer and the chief grabbed Hopper from behind and without further ado slammed him hard against the hood of the car, holding his arms tightly. "Son of a bitch," Hop mumbled as he felt his wrists cuffed.

* * *

Steve ran like hell to another point opposite the parking lot. His BMW was parked there.

"You won't believe it." He almost shouted, as his hand ran through his hair wildly.

"What are you doing here?" Asked a boy hidden behind Steve's car. "You won't have regretted the plan, right? We agreed that you were not a chicken, remember?"

"Hey, hey. Henderson! Hold on. I did it exactly as we planned it. But, something went wrong." Steve fought back.

Dustin sighed. "You are a chicken. The plan was very simple. You just had to anger the chief and let yourself be arrested. What could go wrong?" Dustin began to move his arms pretending to be a chicken.

"I'm not a chicken!" The older boy defended himself, and this time he was shouting.

"Of course you are!"

"Hey, he just arrested someone else. That wasn't planned!"

"Seriously? How likely was that to happen? It's impossible! Steve!"

"How could I know that they would arrest the chief. It still seems strange to me. He looked like a fucking ghost!"

Dustin chuckled. "What are you talking about? The chief has arrested himself. Seriously, Steve, I told you not to drink any beer before starting a mission. I always tell you!"

"Not the chief, chief! ... I mean ..."

"Dustin? Steve?" Said a voice behind them.

They both turned as if caught red-handed. "Holy shit!" Dustin exclaimed surprised to see Will and El, along with Joyce and Jonathan. "HOLY SHIT!" He repeated, still in shock, but soon his smile welcomed them.

El was the first to react and ran to hug him. "I'm so happy to see you!" She exclaimed.

Dustin pulled away happily but soon his smile faced away, concerned. "What are you doing here? Is everything ok?"

Steve looked at Jonathan, uneasy. "How did you find us? We're on a secret mission."

"Steve!" Dustin protested. "It stops being secret when you say we're on a secret mission!"

Will laughed. "Well, because you were shouting in the middle of the parking lot?"

Joyce looked around them, her eyes were a bit worried. "We are looking for Hop, have you seen him? He was refueling the truck, the truck is there but… we couldn't find him."

"Hop? Do you mean ... Hopper?" Dustin asked confused.

"Yes, Henderson. Hopper, the big bear, came on, catch up." Steve retorted, taking the opportunity to snort at his friend.

Dustin crossed his arms. "You've seen Hopper, alive, and you haven't told me!"

"Well, that's what I was trying to tell you," Steve replied, rolling his eyes.

"Where is he?" El asked sharply. Her yellow duckling mode was on.

Steve looked at her, lost in words. "Eh ... well ... ehhh..."

"Steve?" She tried again.

"The police arrested him." He confessed, with a very low voice.

"What?! How? Why!" Joyce exclaimed incredulously. She knew that going back to Hawkins was not a good idea. It never was!

**To be continued.**


	25. The generic key

**Hi there! I hope everyone is safe! Here we go with another chapter. I could name it 'the true welcome to Hawkins' but... Steve has a better title for it :D**

**stisbeautiful457: Thank you very much for your time reading this :)**

**crazytime000: D'oh... I'm not that cruel, am I? Well... the others? They're here :) I Hope you enjoy it.**

**Super special thanks to AnnieRavenclaw707, my beta-reader for making this story possible ;) **

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**Chapter 25: The generic key.**

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Jonathan dropped the last box in the house. This time the move had been much more manageable. El had used her powers to move the largest furniture. That had helped a lot in getting them out of the truck. They also had many more hands, apart from Dustin and Steve, Max and Lucas had also come as soon as Dustin spread a red code through their radios.

"I still can't believe you're back, it's great! Power to the girls!" Max exclaimed, with a smile so big, it looked like it was going to fall off her face. "You don't know how terrible it is to be surrounded by a bunch of half neurones," She said, rolling her eyes, with an exaggerated gesture of despair that made El laugh.

"Hey! We can hear you!" Lucas asserted, snorting as he began to unpack the boxes that Jonathan and Steven had dropped in the center of the house.

Suddenly, the doorbell began to ring insistently. El ran to the door, her legs were too slow and she couldn't wait for her arm to reach the door, so she unlocked the latch with her mind, and the door opened wide. She couldn't help but smile as soon as she saw that Mike was on the other side, his finger still on the doorbell button.

El smiled enthusiastically but immediately, previously advised by Max, tried to put on her best face as the most offended person in the world. "Where were you? You took way too long!" She stated, crossing her arms. _So long to see each other and it turns out he was the last to show up? What kind of boyfriend is that?_

Mike was surprised by that sudden reaction. "It's not my fault. I've pedaled as fast as I could. Do you know how far this house is from mine? I've had to cross the whole town! It's even further away than the old cabin!"

El looked him from head to toe, but she couldn't take it any longer and, immediately, started laughing. Mike smiled too, and they both melted into a hug that soon turned into a tender but shy kiss.

Will rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. I don't think I can bear that much kissing all the time. As if my mother's and Hopper's weren't enough. I'm going to throw up." The boy told with a very displeased gesture. "This is going to be like living in the house of sugary strawberry clouds."

"Sorry?" Max replied opening her mouth in surprise, as her hands moved excitedly.

Will nodded angrily. "Yes. It's disgusting, look at them…"

"No. The other thing," Lucas interrupted him. "Your mother and the chief ...?"

Max was still surprised. "Are you all going to live together? Like... In the same house?"

"I guess so," Will replied, with a sigh.

El and Mike joined the group. They couldn't help but smile all the time, it seemed like a dream come true.

Dustin put a hand on Will's shoulder. "I pity you. Definitely, the home of the sugary strawberry clouds."

It was then that Joyce entered the door, wildly. She angrily tossed the keys disdainfully on top of a box at the entrance.

El approached the woman and tried to look over her shoulder. It was evident that he was looking for Hopper.

"Where is he?" She asked. Joyce had told her she was going to get him, why hadn't she come back with him? Was he ok? Had something happened to him? Oh, my God. Her eyes reflected that all of her alarms were on.

Joyce rubbed her exhausted face before answering. "They haven't let me see him!" She exclaimed, fussing with her hands. "They haven't even let me pass the police station door! Could you believe it?"

"We already told you," Dustin replied standing next to El. "Since Hartman is here, the police station has become a fortress."

"Yes. That's why we were on our secret mission." Steve finished.

"Wait. What secret mission?" Lucas approached them. "We still didn't have a plan."

"You had no plan. Steve and I do." Dustin announced proudly. "So while you guys were very busy with the new arcade, we put our plan into action."

"And what exactly did _'your plan'_ consist of?" Mike scoffed, not quite sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"I piss off Hartman, so he arrests me, and therefore, I could enter the police station," Steve explained, grinning. "Once inside, I could steal Mrs. Hammond's file. It's a perfect plan."

"But if you were locked in the cell, how were you going to steal the file?" Max remarked, how could they be such idiots?

Dustin exhaled in mock exhaustion. "Because Steve has a key to get out of the cell."

"Exactly." Steve pointed out.

Mike looked at both of them. "Seriously? And how did you get it if you can't get into the police station?"

"Well, it's a generic key," Steve replied.

This time it was Dustin who looked at him in surprise. "What kind of a generic key? What is a generic key? You didn't tell me that."

"Well, a generic key is," Steve pulled out a hairpin and showed it to him.

"Are you kidding?" Lucas couldn't get out of his astonishment. "That only works in the movies!"

"Well, it works with my bathroom door," Steve defended himself.

"Sure. But not with the lock of a police holding cell, where criminals are supposed to be put!"

Jonathan cleared his throat to interrupt the conversation, he didn't understand anything. "Who is Mrs. Hammond? And why do you want her file?"

"Mrs. Hammond was our history teacher, but," Mike trailed off. "She was murdered last month. Police declared it was an attempted robbery and closed the case really quickly. But it was very strange. Nothing was stolen, and, you know, there has never been a robbery case that serious in Hawkins. And there wasn't one after that. It was very odd."

Dustin scratched his chin. "Yes, with everything that has happened, we wanted to be sure that it wasn't the evil Russians."

Jonathan sat on the sofa that had just been placed in the middle of a still empty living room. "The Russians aren't here anymore. At least not their base. The US army dismantled it about a month ago." He concluded.

"Wait, what base?" Mike asked in surprise.

"The bad Russians had a hidden base, under the laboratory. There they …" El hesitated a moment, remembering everything they'd been through recently. Mike took her hand, trying to support her, and she nodded. "There they had Hop prisoner. And they also opened a new portal. We rescued him, and we close the portal. The bad Russians are gone."

Everyone was silent, trying to assimilate the new information. Steve raised his hand to intervene. "Are you telling us that all this time the Russians have always been here? In our noses? With another portal open? Great." He ended with sarcasm.

Mike looked at the girl, "When did all this happen?"

"Thirty-eight days ago," El replied. She was never going to change that obsession for counting time only in days.

Lucas did the counting. "That is over a month and a week. Mrs. Hammond's murder occurred after that."

"Oh, my God." Joyce murmured, who had been listening to that conversation silently. Jonathan watched as she put her hands to her mouth and left the room in a hurry. He didn't think twice and got up to follow her into the next room, full of boxes still unpacked. Joyce sat down on one of them.

Jonathan closed the door behind him, the boys were still arguing with each other in the other room.

"Mum. Are you ok?" He asked, clearly worried.

Joyce looked away without answering. After a minute of silence, she rubbed her nose and looked down at her hands. "A murder. At Hawkins."

Jonathan nodded, not knowing what to say. He did not expect something so sinister in such a boring town either.

"And Hop arrested. They haven't let me see him." Joyce spoke, hesitantly. "I didn't even know the cops at the door!"

"Hey. The chief will be fine. He's a strong guy and besides, they won't hurt him, okay? They are just policemen, not sadistic Soviets. This is very different."

"You don't understand, Jonathan." Joyce shocked her head, unnerved. "Hop is imprisoned. In a holding cell, just when he has been released from the Russian prison. That's like if you stab him, wait for the wound to close, tell him that nobody is going to hurt him, and then stab him again in the same spot. The wound grows larger and deeper. He wasn't ok, Jonathan," She admitted. "He wasn't ok."

"Mom please, stop. This isn't the same. They can't keep Hopper locked up for that nonsense. They are going to have to release him soon, and he knows the police station very well. Look, if he has to go through that again, at least, better in a place that is known to him, don't you think?" The boy replied, trying to cheer her up.

"Do you believe that?" Joyce asked hopefully, though knowing it was just a guess. It's as if you are trying to console yourself thinking that within the horrible situation, that was a little less horrible.

Jonathan rubbed her arm. "Of course. Hopper is the strongest man I know. He has been through the upside-down and a Russian jail. After that, this is like a walk in the park for him. Also, he is the big bear as the kids called him. He should be fine."

"The big bear?" She repeated.

"I think it's a better name than Bald eagle. I don't want to know if they nicknamed us too."

Joyce smiled briefly, then her face worried again. She took her son's hand. "I hope you are right. I don't want him to relapse again. He couldn't take it, and neither could I."

Jonathan nodded convinced. "Everything will be fine. We're going to get him back, ok?"

**To be continued.**

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**I would like to know if you're still interested in the story or perhaps I'm making this too long? You could tell me with a PM or a review, comments are always welcome. :)**


	26. Back from the grave

**Hi! I hope everyone is safe! :)**

**Angryfanfic: I'm on it. Believe me, but I'm too bored in quarantine to not write...**

**crazytime000: Dedicated to you! ;)**

**Super special thanks to AnnieRavenclaw707, my beta-reader for being so kind ;)**

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**Chapter 26: Back from the grave.**

**.**

He couldn't believe how much bad luck he has. Everything had gone to hell in recent months, and he increasingly hated everything more and more. Hawkins had always been a quiet place, but lately, everything was a mess. He missed the fieldwork, patrolling, and laughing at Callahan's expense, but those days were long gone.

Officer Powell stared in contempt at the immense mountain of paperwork, piling up on his desk. He couldn't believe the humiliation of having to do office work. It was a punishment from the new chief. That guy, aside from being conceited, didn't accept criticism well. Yet, Powell couldn't complain, after all, others were left worse off than him.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when a new file fell onto his table. He looked up to meet Hartman. "Wake up, Powell. I don't see the volume of paperwork on your table decreasing. Earn your payroll."

"Chief, I'm going as fast as I can," Powell replied, tired.

"Great, because here's one more report," Hartman remarked, pointing to the new folder. "A jerk who's going to sleep in the holding cell. Surely that will take the wind out of him."

_Another one…_ Powell thought, watching as his boss take the keys from the blazer and walk out the door. It was rare during the week that at least two or three citizens did not sleep in the cell of the police station for quite stupid reasons.

"Here," Flo announced, putting a cup of coffee next to him. "You have a horrible expression on your face, more so than usual."

Powell smiled. At least Flo was still around. "If we continue like this," he started, "Half Hawkins will go through the station, and not in a good way. People look down on us when they see us on patrol. How has it come to this, Flo?" He sipped his coffee and put a disgusted face. It had always been good, but even this was worse now. "I'm beginning to think that, perhaps, it's time to rethink my job. I'm sick of doing office work."

Flo put her hands on her hips, looking at him listlessly. "Stop saying bullshit, Powell. You're a good cop. You know that Hartman is a bum, that believed he was the king Midas back in the city, but hey, he screwed it up and ended assigned to a town as punishment. He's just messing around with everyone because he hates Hawkins." She pointed at him. "Don't even think of leaving me here alone. Only you and I are left. So do your job, and don't turn it over in that big head you have."

He forced a smile "As kind as ever, Flo. What would we do without you?"

"Well, you probably wouldn't know how to tie your shoes." She replied with disdain. He knew she didn't mean it, Flo was just like that, too many years working together.

"Are you leaving already?" He asked. "There's a pretty a terrible storm out there."

"Umbrellas have been invented for a reason, Powell. Also, Hartman is already gone, and he won't be back. Yes, I'm out of this dump, and you should do the same." She advised.

"You know that I can't. I'm alone tonight, and there is also a detainee downstairs." His voice had a hint of irony.

"Another one? For heaven's sake, and this time what has he done, wear shoes of a color that Hartman doesn't like?" Flo asked rhetorically.

Powell just shrugged, so Flo sighed wearily. "Okay. At least try to eat something."

"Yes, mom."

Flo looked at him sarcastically. "You all always acted like children."

They both smiled with melancholy. She used to say it a lot, before Hartman. When life was so much calmer, gentler, and at least they were allowed to make jokes.

"Look," Flo started, knowing that the past few months had been rough for everyone. "What happened to Hop was horrible, ok? And just when he was starting to fix his life, but I don't think he would have liked this to go to hell. And I don't think he would have liked you to be considering leaving the badge either. What do you think he would say to you?"

"Well, with what a bastard he was, he would be able to appear as a ghost, just to tell me how stupid I am," Powell responded, with a laugh, though deep down it was a wistful laugh.

"Yes. But since he isn't here, I'll tell you for him. So get that nonsense out of your mind."

Powell nodded. "You know what I miss the most? His morning coffee. He was the best at it." He stated, looking at the cup that she had left for him, now empty.

Flo pretended to be indignant, although she knew he was right. Still grumbling, she picked up her bag and left, leaving him thoughtful.

* * *

The night was long. Powell hadn't even continued with the paperwork. He was too tired for that, and he was also unable to take a nap. Flo's coffee might not be the best, but it was strong. He looked apathetically at the old typewriter on his desk and thought that it would not be of use to him that night, so he decided that it was best to stretch his legs and take a walk around the police station to make sure everything was fine.

He began his round by the offices. Of course, Hartman's was always locked. Then he walked to the file, tidier than ever, he had to admit. And finally, he ended up in the armory. It was weird, but it was a place that was less orderly than the rest. There were more boxes than usual on the floor. They never did they need it much. Hawkins had always been a quiet place.

He began to place the boxes and was surprised that some weighed less than others, he didn't have time to examine them though, because suddenly it was dark. Great. The fuses might have blown, again. He thought, tired. It used to happen often, the electrical installation of the station was old, and they've never made many investments to improve it. So they almost always had a power outage when there was a storm. Hopefully, he could fix it, or he would spend a long night until the next morning.

With a flashlight, he went down to the electricity meter. It was right next to the holding cell. Out of the corner of his eye, Powell glance at the arrested man. He thought that at that time he would be asleep, but in the dim light, he could see that he was sitting in a corner. He was probably just a poor soul who didn't deserve that punishment.

"It's ok, pal. The power has gone with the storm, but I hope I can fix it soon." The officer stated.

The man turned and stood up like a spring. "Powell?" His voice sounded like someone frightened, who suddenly seemed to have found salvation.

Shocked, the officer turned to look at the man, the flashlight aimed directly at his face. "Jesus!" Powell exclaimed when he saw the man pounce on the bars in despair. A whitish face, terribly familiar, was visible in the beam of light. Except it couldn't be real. _Impossible._ Terrified, he leaned back, hitting his back against the wall behind him.

"Hey, get that shit off my fucking face. You're blinding me." Hopper protested.

Powell still couldn't believe what he was seeing. Was he hallucinating after a hard day doing paperwork? "This is not happening," He said incredulously as the flashlight fell from his hands. "Am I dreaming?" He asked out loud.

"Yes, well, that's what I asked myself a while ago."

Powell tried not to enter panic mode. Everything was the result of his imagination after a long day of work. Yes, it must be that. Also, damn, he was a policeman, and he couldn't be terrified like that in front of a detainee, right? His first instinct was to go to power on the electricity. Everything would be better with more light.

Fortunately, the energy returned to the place illuminating the entire police station. Powell turned to the holding cell, expecting to meet another man. Sure he would laugh at how idiotic he had been, a hallucination from the previous conversation with Flo.

"Fuck!" He exclaimed again, frightened, as he saw Hopper holding on to the bars. "Hey, I was joking, okay? We're not going to let this place go to shit. Neither Flo nor me."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Hopper asked, confused.

"You didn't show up to tell me not to leave the police?"

Hopper was still just as confused, but seeing Powell's panicked face, he began to understand what was going on. "Appear? Do I look like a ghost?"

"Are you one?" The officer asked quickly.

Hopper chuckled. "If I were a ghost, I would have already gone through the bars a little while ago, don't you think? And what the fuck are you thinking about dropping your badge? Are you stupid?"

Powell was still dumbfounded. Hopper couldn't be there. He just couldn't. It was impossible! The officer looked closely at him. He was for sure skinny than the last time he saw him. The ghosts didn't change shape. Did they? Damn it, and how could he know? He's never seen one before!

The officer quickly realized that although he looked like Hopper, his face was unusual. He didn't have a confident face mixed with arrogance, it was… quite agitated, you could almost say Hopper looked desperate.

"I don't understand anything," Powell confessed, rather slowly. He was still in shock.

"Fuck, Powell. Don't just stand there. Open this damn door, and get me out of here." Hop said impatiently. He couldn't bear being locked up for another minute. Too many bad memories from his time in a Soviet jail.

Powell was still in shock, but he carried away with the situation. "I can't."

"Hey, are you so scared of that asshole? You didn't have that much respect for me when I was the chief,"

"It's not respect, Hopper. I just don't have the keys."

"What do you mean you don't have the keys?"

"Only Hartman has them."

"What?! What if something happens when he's not here? Do we leave the detainee to his fate? What kind of irresponsible asshole is that Hartman? What if the station catches fire? Will we let people burn down here?" Hopper raised his arms, exasperated.

It was then that Powell came out of shock to go pale as milk. After a long pause, he folded his arms angrily. "Don't say that. It's not fucking funny, you know?" He asserted angrily. Hopper looked at him without understanding, he should be the pissed off, right? After all, He was the one on the other side of the bars for no reason.

"It's not funny," Powell repeated. "You died in the Starcourt fire. Like a damn hero. We buried you with fucking honors. You even have a fucking grave in the cemetery with your fucking name on it!" The officer shouted, obviously frustrated.

Hopper fell silent when he saw that Powell was truly screwed. Damn, they had buried him. Seriously? Had the government gone so far to cover up the Starcourt disaster? He quickly remembered the corpse of Will's fake body and shook his head in disbelief. He sat on the floor of the cell by the bars. He was tired from the trip, and of course, knowing that information didn't help him at all.

"I'm here, okay? It's me. I know it's weird, and I really regret that I left you to your fate these months. But, please, believe me, it wasn't my intention. Damn, it wasn't." Hop acknowledged sadly. "My duty as the chief was to take care of my subordinates," The Russians had taken even that from him.

Powell sighed and ended up sitting next to Hopper. "Even Flo cried at your damn funeral."

"Seriously? Is the ice lady capable of crying?"

They both looked at each other, smiling.

"Apparently, yes. But do you know what she doesn't know how to do? Coffee." Powell replied sarcastically, though his gaze openly showed affection.

Hopper grinned. "Oh come on, don't get sentimental, it doesn't suit you. It's just that Hartman doesn't let you play solitaire in the office while Mrs. Larson asks you for help to… finish off the evil raccoon in her garden." His voice had a very dramatic tone.

They laughed. Hopper reached out through the bars and squeezed Powell's shoulder.

The officer looked at his former boss's hand. "Fuck, Hopper. You're really here."

"I'm afraid so."

"What happened? Where the hell have you been these months?"

Hopper frowned. He had to think of something real fast. He couldn't tell Powell the truth, could he? He felt remorseful about it. The man was a good police officer, but what was he going to tell him? The snowball was too big since the first incident in the laboratory. No, the truth was not an option. He would look like a crazy man just out of the asylum, and to be honest, Powell was still looking at him as if he was a damn ghost.

"It was a misunderstanding. You know there were many victims on Starcourt that day. There was an error in the identifications." Hopper started. It was logical to think that the government would also have covered the rest of the fatalities because of the mind flayer.

"Almost six months, Hopper. That's half a year." Powell replied, with a genuine expression of reproach. It looked like he wasn't taking the bait. Damn, he had always been the smartest of his officers.

Hopper had already started there, and he had to keep his facade. No matter what. "Well, you know, a fire, smoke inhalation,"

"Not a fucking call?" Powell blamed him.

"I was in a coma!" Hopper abruptly exclaimed, surprised by his own words. It was the first thing that he could make up. Yes, maybe it sounded a bit extravagant, but Powell gazed at him concerned.

"Damn. Are you ok?" He asked, with real worry.

"Yes, yes. But, I don't take well to be closed in places, you know? I have... bad memories from that day," Hopper replied, looking back at his cell, anxiety reflected in his eyes. That wasn't technically a lie.

Powell nodded. "That's ok. Don't worry. I guess you haven't done anything, Hartman will release you tomorrow. The only thing he wants to demonstrate with this nonsense is that he is above the rest. That's all."

"Well, aham... It's not that simple,"

"Shit, Hopper, what have you done?"

"I hit a cop." He admitted a little embarrassed.

Powell stared at Hopper, ready to scold him. "Oh, God. Why the hell did you do that?"

"I know, I know. I got carried away, ok? But I'm allergic to idiots. You already know that. That's why Callahan rubs me the wrong way," He answered scornfully.

"Callahan isn't here anymore. Hartman fired him."

Hopper's smile faded.

"From the old team, Flo and I are the only left," Powell informed him.

"Damn,"

"Yeah."

After a moment of silence. Hopper rubbed his face. "Ok. What the hell do you advise me to get out of here?"

Powell sighed. "You're going to have to apologize and, maybe, plead a little."

"Never." Hopper cut him off, convinced. In all the time he had been with the Russians, never, ever, he had pleaded. At least not that he could remember. And Powell was expecting him to beg to that idiot? No way. No fucking way.

Powell watched him. Hopper's earlier desperate gesture was gone, and now he had the same cocky face that he knew so well. Now it was the man that he remembered.

"Put aside your stupid pride." The officer advised, thinking that it was going to be a train wreck. Why did he always have bosses with so much ego?

Hopper turned to face him. "Take a good look at me, because this is the face of someone who will not humiliate himself."

"Well, I'm going to have time to get fed up with your face. If you don't, Hartman won't let you go. You have assaulted a policeman." Powell pointed out, annoyed. "They could file charges. This is how things work now."

Hopper shook his head. "You don't know what I've had to go through to get back. You have no idea, Powell. I'm not going to crawl to that fool. Never."

The officer scratched his head wearily. He knew perfectly well that this was Hopper's last word. Too many years working together; he knew where his limits were. Precisely for this reason, he felt that he had to help him, even if he did not want to be helped. Just for the old times.

"By the way. This afternoon the other policemen were laughing at a woman who was protesting at the door, asking them to release you. You haven't come back alone, huh?" He noted, trying to change the conversation.

Hopper remained silent, so Powell continued. "For what they said about her, and seeing you here now, only a name comes to my mind, Byers?"

An involuntary grin appeared on Hopper's lips, which gave him away instantly.

"I knew it. You old fox."

Powell was thoughtful, an idea had occurred to him, quite horrible. So bad, that Hopper would probably hate him for it, but still ...

**To be continued.**


	27. A killer on the loose

**I hope everyone is sound and safe :) Here is another week and another chapter. Super special thanks to AnnieRavenclaw707, my beta reader for her infinite patience with me ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 27: A killer on the loose.**

**.**

The return trip was very silent. Hopper was not amused to know that he was released without reason, because things did not work that way, not with people like Hartman.

Joyce stopped the car just in front of their new house. It was still rare to think that she could have another brand new house, in such a short time.

"Hop," She started to say, but he just growled grumpily and got out of the car heading towards the house. Joyce sighed, trying to be patient, although he wasn't making it easy for her.

When Powell had appeared at her house that morning, Joyce couldn't believe what the officer had been proposing. She could help Hopper as long as someone apologized, in a very humiliating way and biting their tongue, nodding at everything the new chief said, without question.

Since Hopper didn't have any interest in it, Joyce would have to be the one to do it. Yes. The conversation with Hartman had been pretty embarrassing, but she had done it for a reason, bringing Hopper back home. She couldn't believe he was taking it so poorly, after all, it had worked and she was sure she would do it again if necessary. Why was he so upset about it?

Hopper strode into the house, in pressing need of a damn shower and praying to the heavens to not curse him anymore. He just asked for a chance to escape from the rest of the world, just for a couple of hours. His sanity was a stake from the lack of sleep. Too naive to think that.

El ran to him as soon as his feet stepped inside, barely having time to catch her in his arms.

"Hey, little yellow duck! Be Careful," He exclaimed as she tried to surround his body between her short arms. She had been able to confirm that with Hop's weight loss, now it was possible, and she liked doing it.

Hopper looked up to find all the boys peeking out the door to the living room. _Oh no._ He hadn't even thought that the group would have broken into his home so soon. Damn, they had entered his house even before him. He couldn't help rolling his eyes at that thought, damn kids. For a few moments, nobody said anything.

"I told you, he was alive!" Dustin announced proudly to have been able to count that scoop. Lucas hit him on the arm. It was not the time to make jokes.

Hopper looked at them, one by one, until the last, yeah, behind everyone, was... Mike. He was in no mood to go through that now. He just wanted to get away and have a party of troublemakers beyond the wall next door was not going to help him not lose his mind. Immediately the boys began to make room and to push Mike, who reluctantly went ahead to face Hopper, although that, avoiding glances.

"On behalf of everyone. We would like to say that we are happy that you are... not dead," Hopper stared at them. If looks could kill...

Mike glanced back for help, but the group just motioned with their hands to keep the boy talking. They had rehearsed it all morning. Now the Byers' lived in the chief's house, well, the former chief, so they had to suck up to him, or they wouldn't be able to go there often. "And, we wanted to welcome you to Hawkins. We helped with the move, look, we've put all the furniture in! And we just wanted to say that we can help in whatever you need. Yes. That's it."

"Yeeeeah," Hopper said wryly, he wasn't in the mood for that crap. For heaven's sake, he came from spending a night in a cell, without any sleep. "Do you know how you can help right now?" Yes, he was going to kick them out, he had the face of wanting to kick them out. But then he looked down at El, she was smiling, beaming. They had been through a lot in the past month, and at least she was truly delighted. God, life is so simple when you're a teenager. Hopper had no desire to argue, nor did he have the heart to take away that moment. So he quickly thought of an alternative plan. Everyone out of the house. Wonderful, isn't it?

"And what are you all supposed to be doing here? Don't you want to go out for a walk?" He asked, hoping that all the screaming and high laughs would go very far away from him.

"We're solving a crime," El replied, convinced.

Hopper didn't take it seriously. He was too exhausted to try to find out about what stupid new game they had invented. "Riiiiiight," He snorted as he released himself from her. "Don't make too much noise, please,"

"Of course not. You aren't going to hear to us." Dustin responded quickly.

"Not a single word," Lucas added.

"Absolutely none!" Mike continued, hoping he could stay there.

Hopper looked at them in disbelief, for kids who say that they wouldn't speak, they sure didn't shut up. The man rolled his eyes and without another word went up the stairs to the second floor, where the rooms were supposed to be.

Joyce walked in right after and looked at the boys who just pointed in silently to the stairs.

* * *

Joyce entered the bedroom and closed the door behind her, slamming the wooden frame a little louder than she intended. Her gaze went to the man as she crossed her arms.

"Hopper. Stop this nonsense right now, okay? It's not important!"

He groaned. "It does matter to me, Joyce. I will not let anyone..."

"Shut up," She had enough. "Yes. I had to beg Hartman, and yes, I had to insult you several times, acknowledging how stupid you are, and that something like this would not happen again, and you know what? I hardly regret the latter."

"You shouldn't have done it." He said dryly, his face serious.

"And what did you wanted me to do?" Joyce's hands came to her hips. "Leave you there?"

"I would have managed by now." It was clear that he was not going to give up.

"Oh, yes, of course. I see how well you managed, what was your plan? To insult him again so he could file more charges against you?" She was yelling now, that attitude was outraging her. What was wrong with him?

He approached Joyce to face her, was she yelling at him? Seriously? He was the angry one. "Well, in the end, he is going to arrest me again anyway, because I'm going to kill Powell!"

"Hey, he wanted to help you, and so did I. Forget Hartman for God's sake, we have more important things to think about!" She replied incredulously. "I don't understand why it bothers you so much. He's just a jerk. Why do you care what he thinks?"

"Of course, you don't understand!" His hands waved wildly. "I'm a man who doesn't have anything left!" Joyce stopped her banter, a bit shocked by that statement, so he continued, "They've taken everything from me, Joyce. All my damn life! I haven't even been able to bring anything on the move other than what I wore! The only thing I had left was my dignity, Joyce. MY DIGNITY!" After a pause, his voice low down. "And thanks to you two, I don't even have that anymore." He stated, exhaling tiredly.

Joyce was speechless. She knew that Hop was a proud man, but she never thought that this nonsense could affect him so much. But it was perfectly clear it wasn't about Hartman anymore.

Hopper shook his head. Once again, the universe was against him. Joyce was right, that was a trifle, but it made him angry anyway. His life was falling apart, again, and the closest person to shouting at was her. He rested his head on his hands. It wasn't fair, and he knew it. Unfortunately, he'd been through that once before to learn from his mistakes, when.. well, when he still had a wife. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to go through that again. Big fights always started with those little things.

"Sorry," He spoke honestly after a pause, "I know you only wanted to help me, Joyce, but," He trailed off, didn't know how to finish the sentence.

The woman nodded. "But any little humiliation, no matter how ridiculous it is, reminds you of your time with the Soviets." She finished the sentence for him.

Hopper looked down, defeated. Sometimes he thinks that Joyce knows him better than himself, and that scares him.

She took his hand, trying to support him. "I'm sorry you were disappointed with the return to Hawkins, maybe I could include an 'I told you so' here but I won't,"

"Technically, you just did." He pointed out.

Joyce squeezed his hand. "Hop, I know that nothing can ever be the same as before, but I want you to know that you have us. A new house and, I know it's not much, but you also have some of your things in that box." She said, turning him around to show him a package with his name in capital letters.

"I know it's not much," She insisted, "But we tried to keep some things from the cabin."

He blinked, surprised, and a bit shocked too. "Why did you keep it? I mean, you assumed I was dead. Why keep my things?"

"Hop. How can you think that we wouldn't keep memories of you?" Joyce could not believe that he was held in such low esteem. "Do you really think we cared so little that we didn't want to remember you?"

The man smiled fondly as he practically launched himself to open the box as if he were a child with his Christmas present. There were many little things, things that he had almost forgotten. He was surprised to see the first storybook he read to El before sleeping or the box of the first puzzle they made together. But what surprised him most was seeing a photo frame. The image took his breath away. It was Sara, his daughter. He took it in his hands, and with his thumbs caressed the glass that reflected the photo of a baby. She would barely be three years old when he took that photo.

"Why did you keep this?" He asked, putting the frame back carefully in the box. "Neither you nor El knew Sara."

Joyce rubbed his back with tenderness. "We knew it was important to you. And if it was for you, also for us." She admitted.

"Thank you." He replied without further ado. After a minute of silence, he turned to Joyce. His eyes were glassy. "I don't deserve you."

Joyce nodded, taking his head between her hands. "We agree on that. Hey, come here, you idiot." She reached over and kissed him slowly and deeply.

He wrapped his arms around her as they melted into an increasingly suffocating kiss. So many emotions in so little time. Their feet shuffled around the room, trying not to crash into the boxes still scattered on the floor. It was a complicated task when neither of them wanted to break the connection. Finally, it was Hop who pulled away, surprised as he hit the bed and looked at her with a questioning look.

"Are you sure?" He asked without breath.

"Uhuh…"

* * *

Will studied his old Lego toys again. He couldn't believe that after being stored in a crate for so many years, now they would be useful again. Suddenly he took one and noticed that someone had painted a very angry eyebrow with a black marker. "Hey. Who did this?" He demanded.

Dustin and Steve started laughing, giving themselves away quickly. "Well, we wanted to make the Hartman's Lego realistic. You know, to better visualize the plan." Dustin told him.

Will picked up another Lego, this one had sunglasses painted on it. "And who is this?"

"That's me, of course," Steve replied smiling self-reliantly.

Lucas rolled his eyes. "We won't be able to move forward like this, this is serious!" He exclaimed pointing to the small stage they had set up with those toys, simulating the police station.

"It won't work," Mike stated.

"Of course it will. El can open all doors with her mind. Now it's even easier," Dustin reminded him.

"Yes, but once inside, we don't know where to start looking. And we won't have much time. We don't even know where the file is!" Mike acknowledged as the others buffed disappointed.

El stared at the tiny Lego station. "We don't know." She started, "But Hop knows."

Dustin snapped his fingers. "That's true. The chief can draw us a plan of the station and tell us where the file could be." The boy replied enthusiastically.

El rose like a spring. "Where are you going?" Mike asked concerned.

She shrugged. "To ask him."

"No!" Mike exclaimed suddenly.

Hardly an hour had passed since the big bear had returned and he had already held them in contempt. If they angered him, he might kick them all out, him first. Mike couldn't allow it. But it was too late, El was already running towards the stairs, and what was worse, he was behind to try to stop her.

El was about to open the door to Hop's bedroom when Mike stopped her. "Wait!" Mike Whispered. "Better knock on the door, okay? I don't want the Chief to be mad and not let us come every day," he admitted.

The girl rolled her eyes. "That's not going to happen," But just in case, she knocked twice on the door. Too loud for Mike's liking. "Hop?" El asked, "Are you awake?" She continued, raising her voice. It was clear that if he wasn't, she wanted to wake him up.

"Fuck!" They heard Hop's curse on the other side of the door. Then a thud sounded. Has anyone fallen?

"Hop?" El asked, starting to get concerned.

"Coming!" The man exclaimed.

"Are you ok? Can we come in?"

"NO!"

"What? Why?"

Suddenly, Hop opened the door and before they could peek inside he closed the door behind him.

The three of them stared at each other very awkwardly.

"Is everything alright?" El asked.

"Yes," Hop replied dryly, then nodded and kept looking at them, hoping for some kind of explanation for that unexpected assault.

"Why aren't you wearing a shirt?" Mike asked puzzled.

"It's hot," Hop replied quickly.

"It's December." The boy pointed out.

Hopper pressed his jaw. "What the hell do you want? I thought I had told you to not disturb me. Does it ring a bell?"

The girl shook her head. "We need you to make us a map of the police station," She said bluntly.

Hopper opened his mouth, puzzled. "This is a joke, right?" The man stared at Mike. "A joke that is not funny by the way." Mike was definitely a bad influence on his daughter.

El snorted in annoyance. "Hop, we need it to solve the crime!"

The man rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "Hey, kid, I'm busy. This is not the time for your little games."

"It's not a game!" El protested exasperated.

"We have to solve the murder of Miss Hammond," Mike added.

Hopper opened his eyes wide, incredulous. "Suuuure." Then he buffed to the air and dramatically stared at Mike. "Hey, did you hear that? That sound?"

"No ... what?" The boy was starting to get nervous.

"That was the sound of my patience shattering in a billion little pieces!"

The girl grabbed his arm, drawing her attention. "Hop! As long as we don't figure it out, there will be a killer on the loose in Hawkins!" She told him.

Hopper chuckled. "A killer on the loose in Hawkins ..." He repeated with sarcasm. It was the most absurd thing he had heard in a long time. He was going to laugh but saw that the kids were still staring at him seriously. "Wait. Do you really mean it?"

"Yep." They answered in unison.

**To be continued.**

**Opinions and comments are always appreciated ;)**


	28. The lone ranger

**Hi again! I hope everyone is alright! As always I want to thank all of you that still care for this fic and of course, my beta-reader AnnieRavenclaw707 for been so kind :)**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter, if not, let me know anyway. ;P**

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**Chapter 28: The lone ranger**

**.**

It certainly wasn't what he expected. The return to Hawkins had been terrible, or rather, utterly disappointing. Hopper had hoped in vain that he might get his life back, or at least a small piece of it, but that hope disappeared in less than twenty-four hours.

As soon as he set foot in that damn town, all his dreams of returning to a stable, quiet, and familiar place, had suddenly vanished like breath in a mirror. That place was neither stable after losing his job, nor was it quiet now that he knew there was a killer on the loose. And his unfortunate visit to the police station, the place where he had spent the most hours in recent years, seemed like a different planet, everything was unfamiliar. That thought frustrated him because he felt that he had no place left to take refuge and amend his life, and what was worse, he had dragged his new family into that hole.

And then there was the other thing. Hopper heard voices in the background, but he couldn't stop staring at how Mike and El were holding hands. They seemed glued with Loctite. That wasn't healthy, not at all. It was obsessive! Too much for his sanity. Joyce was damn right. Going back to Hawkins had been a complete mistake.

"And this is how we'll get Mrs. Hammond's report," Dustin stated, finishing the explanation. The silence made Hopper shift his gaze from Mike and El to the rest of the group. The boys were nodding with self-sufficiency as if that explanation were to reveal the secret formula of eternal youth.

He had not been paying attention to the plan. As soon as he saw that they began to explain it with those lego toys, his mind went to the clouds, very far away. His only connection to the earth was feeling Joyce's presence next to him.

"Could you repeat it?" He found himself saying.

"Seriously? Have the Russians left you deaf or something?" Steve asked, annoyed.

Hopper exhaled heavily. What was he thinking to have agreed to even listen to them? God, he was so exhausted. The lack of sleep, mixed with his apathy towards the boys and the physical exhaustion from... ehh... well... He smirked at the thought of what he had just done with Joyce.

"Are you even paying attention to us?" El raised her eyebrow, noticing his absent-mindedness.

"Yes, yes... sure. I'm just a bit tired. That's all, kid." He reassured her, trying to pay more attention this time.

Steve picked up all the legos toys. "Ok. Hartman always goes out for breakfast at ten o'clock. So, once he leaves, Dustin and I will pretend to fight on the street, in front of the police station. The cops at the door are going to separate us. Then, Mike and El enter into the station. Mike distracts Flo, and El sneaks inside, looking for the report. If you tell us where the police store the records, she could go straight for it, and steal it. Lucas and Max will remain outside to guard the door, just in case the policemen return. If they do, they will have to delay them as long as they can. It's a perfect plan."

Again everyone looked at each other with smart faces.

Hopper opened his mouth to speak, but Joyce stepped forward. "It's the stupidest thing I've heard in a long time," She replied, unnerved.

"It's a good plan. And I can do it," El protested stubbornly.

"No, it's not. We are talking about stealing from a police station for Heaven's sake!" Joyce asserted. What did they have in their heads? Sawdust? "Hopper, tell them something!" She got up from the sofa and stared at the man, trying to get some support from him. Had they all lost their minds?

"Joyce is right. It's stupid." Hop said with a nod, as the kids began to protest.

"Thank you," Joyce murmured, knowing that at least Hopper hadn't lost his mind too.

"No one is going to do any of this, ok? There are other ways to get that report. I'll take care of it." He stated.

"What?!" The woman blurted, annoyed. "No, no, no way. Nobody is going to do anything! What do you think is this? Murder, she wrote? Even Jessica Fletcher would know this is stupid!"

Hopper looked at her, confused. She was mad, and he didn't understand why. Also, he didn't like the Jessica Fletcher show. Magnum P.I. was better. Oh yeah, that incredible car... Joyce waved her arms exasperated, and stormed out of the house, in need of fresh air.

The boys were silent, and El approached her father. "I'm going with you." She told, determined.

Hop gave her a half-smile. In a way, it was lovely that she tried to protect him so much. He wasn't going to deny it.

"No one is going anywhere," He sighed.

El stared at him, a bit upset. "But you said you would help us, that you would take care of it."

"Yes." He admitted. "But why go to the file when the file can come to us?"

They all looked at him puzzled.

* * *

Joyce drew in the last puff of her nearly burned-out cigar when she heard the front door of the house open again, with heavy steps.

"I thought you only smoked when you were worried," Hopper pointed out from behind, watching her closely. He was concerned about her recent stance. Everyone was a little uneasy about the latest events, but she did not tend to lose her temper like that. After all, it was his role to act as a protective bear, not the other way around. Damn, he had even hidden El in a forest for a year for fear that something would happen to her.

"And shouldn't I be?" Joyce asked, pulling out the butt of the cigarette disdainfully. "Please tell me you are not going to join that stupid paranoid conspiracy." She reproached, almost spitting out the words.

Hopper snorted. "Joyce, the kids just want to see the file. There is nothing wrong with that. When they see that it's indeed an unfortunate robbery that went wrong and not a 'paranoid conspiracy' as you call it, they will rest easy and probably look for another, healthier hobby." He moved closer to her. "I've already called to ask a small favor to a partner from the police station to get it. So no one is going to do anything stupid." He spoke reassuringly.

Her eyes were doubtful, although she said nothing, her feet just went to the porch railing to look at the garden. It was lovely, and she hadn't even stopped to glance at it. They had to be enjoying the new house, putting their things together, preparing a good celebration, and there was nothing like that. Instead, they were arguing, talking about murder, and not having a moment of respite. Could they never be able to enjoy anything?

She felt Hopper behind her, and soon his arms wrapped around her belly protectively. "Joyce ..." He mumbled almost like a plea, resting his chin on her shoulder.

She just wanted to show her disagreement, but feeling his breath against her neck completely disarmed her. It was absurd to pretend to be mad at him. She wasn't. How could she be after what they had shared? Finally, she gave in and cocked her head to rest it on his.

"It's not just the kids, is it? You also want to see the damn report." She told sulkily.

Hopper chuckled. It was evident that he was like an open book to her. "You were right. Returning to Hawkins has been discouraging." He recognized, sighing. "I just want to make sure there's nothing else to worry about, ok? That's all."

* * *

His knuckles knocked three times on the door. It was somewhat ironic. Hopper thought he had only been to that house once in his life, and now he was returning to Hawkins, and the first house he visited was that. He shook his head in disbelief, nothing he had planned for his return was going well. To be honest, nothing was logical lately.

The door opened, and Flo studied him from head to toe like a farmer inspecting an animal before buying it. He was tempted to show his teeth like an old horse.

"Hi Flo," Hopper spoke softly, knowing she was upset. The truth is that she was never happy, but perhaps less now than ever. He was beginning to worry about the fact that she said nothing.

She put her hands on her waist but pulled away to let him pass. Without further thought he entered the house, it was freezing outside.

"Wow, huh? I didn't remember how beautiful your house is, you know?" He told, trying to be nice. That was getting awkward. He even tried to smile.

"Uhuh," Was her response. Without seeing it coming, Hopper felt a sharp slap to the nape of his neck, not very strong but enough to sting.

"Ouch! What the hell?" He protested, instinctively putting his hand to his neck to massage it. "Did you just smack me?" He asked incredulously.

"Yes. It's what you do with young children when they are stupid. Didn't your mother teach you that?" Flo replied, annoyed. "Six months Hopper. Six months thinking that you were dead, and now you come as if nothing happened?"

Hopper was going to explain, but Flo raised her index finger threateningly so he fell silent.

"And not satisfied with coming as if nothing, do you ask for favors?"

"Flo ..."

"Shh….!" She ordered him to be silent. "Not just any favor. But a crime. Steal a report from the police station! For heaven's sake," She stated, whining the last part.

Hopper snorted uneasily, sometimes Florence was even worse than his mother.

"Came on, Flo. I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't know you could do it with one finger." Hopper pointed out. "You're the person who knows the police station best. Not just any corner of the place but all the people in it. No one notices you, and you can move wherever you want. You're probably the person that knows everything in there, Flo. You always were."

Flo snorted. "You hit yourself in the head, Hop? Was that what happened to you? You should remember that sucking me up doesn't work." She added sarcastically.

They stared at each other for a few seconds until Flo smiled, giving him the go-ahead. "Come in, sit down," She said, pointing to the sofa in her living room. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Uhhh," Before he could reply, Flo had already disappeared on the way to the kitchen.

Hopper sat up and realized that the report was on the coffee table in front of him. "Flo, I love you," He mumbled, opening the file and starting to study it. At first, the report seemed very common, but when he saw the photocopied photos of the crime scene, his guts turned.

It was not the first time he had seen such a thing, but he found it very sad to know that such a thing had happened at Hawkins. The unfortunate Mrs. Hammond was young, too young to have bled to death in the middle of the street. One of the photos caught his eye. It was a close-up shot of the bullet wound that had killed her, straight to the head. Too precise for a robbery with a struggle.

Hop had been so engrossed in those images, that he was startled to hear Flo in front of him.

"So?" She asked.

"So what?"

"Well. You were a homicide detective in New York. You've probably seen similar cases. What do you think?"

"Yes, well, uh ... It's still too early to say anything. I have to study it a little more thoroughly." And I need to make some calls, he thought.

"Oh, come on, Hopper. I'm not an idiot," Flo explained, with less diplomacy. "You have put 'the face'. It's evident that you have seen something."

"The face?" Hopper replied, confused.

"Yes, the face. 'Hey, I just solved it, but I'm so cretinous and self-sufficient that I take the car keys and go alone without counting on anyone as if I were the fucking lone ranger'."

Hopper blinked a few times incredulously. It was clear that his poker face had lost faculties. It was beginning to be crystal clear and not just with Joyce. Should he start worrying?

"I don't make that face. And what the hell does that face look like?" He tried uselessly to defend himself.

Flo crossed her arms in disapproval. "Come on. You know you can trust us, both me and Powell, right?"

Hop slammed the report shut. "Of course, I trust you. But as I said, I have to study it further. " He said, getting up from the table, trying to end the conversation in a hurry. "I will let you know if there is any news." He stated, excusing himself.

"Hopper," Flo called him in such an authoritative tone that he stopped walking to look at her. "If you need help, ask us." She mentioned, very seriously.

"Ok?" He replied with annoyance, almost rolling his eyes.

"Hey, boy. Don't talk to me like that. Your first funeral was very boring. Don't make me go for a second one, or I swear I'll be the one to hit you with the shovel on the head."

"I'll keep it in mind." He replied sarcastically as he hurried from the house straight to the car.

Immediately, he started the engine without being able to get those unfortunate images out of his head. It had only taken him a single glance to know that the boys were right. This was not an unfortunate robbery, it could be something else.

**To be continued.**

**I know that I'm making this a bit longer than expected, but we're getting there... I promise! Let me know what do you think :)**


	29. Coffee at 3:00 am

**It's been a long time since the last update; I'm so so sooo sorry… please don't hate me!**

**I want to thank all of you for your patience. You're fantastic!**

**I also want to thank AnnieRavenClaw707 my beta reader, who is doing great work! Thank you for your patience and time! :)**

* * *

**Chapter 29: Coffee at 3:00 a.m.**

.

It was early morning when Joyce began to feel uncomfortable and cold. She cursed the fact that they had not yet been able to install the heating in the house. She tried her best to go back to sleep, so she leaned back, looking for Hopper's warmth but couldn't find it.

Annoyed, she threw her arm back but found the mattress empty. It was then that her eyes opened like a spring. Her body turned to meet the empty bed. It wasn't even warm. If he had gotten up, it was a long time ago. The woman was quite startled.

Since the nightmares had ceased, Hop slept like a log. He didn't even change his posture. It was as if the man had a power switch that didn't turn back on until the next morning. He had indeed returned very strangely from his visit to Flo, but Joyce supposed he was just tired. This could prove she was wrong. Or perhaps she was overreacting. There was only one way to find out.

Sleepily, she looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was three in the morning. "For heaven's sake. What the hell is he doing?"

Determined, she put on a jacket and wandered around the house. The children were sleeping, no doubt about that, so she went down to the living room. The light was on, but no one was there.

Instead, she found the papers of Mrs. Hammond's report scattered on the floor, with a notebook, next to an almost empty cup of coffee. It was like following a trail of clues that led her to the front porch of the house.

There she discovered Hopper's shadow. He was leaning on the railing. A cigarette was consuming in his fingers as his gaze stared at the infinite. Ok, this is weird. She thought.

As Joyce observed him unnoticed, her heart ached at the expression on his face, with no emotion at all. The gaze with which he searched for answers that did not come.

She would have liked to observe him a bit more. It was such a rare moment. They hadn't had time for them. But it was cold, and a chill caused her to cringe, making him turn alerted, much more awake than she was. God bless the good strong coffee.

"Joyce. What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," She defended herself. "And I thought you had quit smoking." Her arms folded. It was so cold.

He exhaled the last puff of smoke "Well, they say that bad habits are never completely gone," The cigarette fell into the ashtray, where lay more than one. "It wasn't my intention to wake you up." He regretted, approaching her.

"Why are you here?" She shrugged chilled.

"Sometimes, the cold helps me think." He confessed, approaching her and rubbing her arms, trying to warm her up.

"It can also help you catch pneumonia." She snapped. "Seriously, Hop. What are you supposed to be doing?"

"Reviewing the report. I think the boys were right. A lot of things don't fit." He replied, avoiding her excruciating gaze.

Joyce bit her lower lip and looked out at the garden. No word was adequate to say what she had to say. Hopper was going through a significant career crisis, but he had to cut it short as soon as possible before it became a sick obsession. She mustered her courage and looked back at him.

"Hopper. I understand that you want to help, I do, but you can't get up at three in the morning as if the case were yours."

He clenched his jaw. He did it when he was upset, but couldn't reply. Joyce was disturbed to realize that she was beginning to know how to read his body language. Was that good or bad? She shook her head. "Sorry, Hop. I'm sorry, but if someone has to tell you, better be me."

"Tell me what?" He asked, starting to get annoyed.

"That you are no longer a police officer. I know it's hard to accept, but the sooner you do it, the better."

Hopper put his hands on his waist, staring at her. "From the beginning, you've been against this. You don't seem to care if there's a murderer in Hawkins."

He could not believe that the woman who left him standing, (No, he was not going to forget that) because she imagined a conspiration when the magnets in her fridge had fallen, now didn't care about crime. "Why does it bother you?"

Joyce exhaled tensely. "Yes, it bothers me." She admitted, realizing that if his body language was clear to her, he also knew how to read hers. "Because it's not our business. It's a case for the police. Hartman should be the one who gets up at three in the morning to investigate the case, not you. And do you know why? Because I want to have a quiet life." Her gaze sought him to understand her concern. "I don't want you to play the hero in something that doesn't concern you, and absurdly put yourself in danger. I'm just asking for that. I want to be able to be calm for a damn time."

"Doesn't concern me," Hopper lowered his tone. If she was worried, he was too, but apparently, they did not share the same point of view. "I want a quiet life too, Joyce. But I told you once, and I repeat it. For me, it is important that you feel safe," He continued, pointing his finger at the house. "I want for this to be called a quiet home. I want my family to be secure." He stated, putting a lot of emphasis on the last sentence.

Joyce was stunned. It was the first time that the word family escaped from his lips. Yes, it is true that they lived under the same roof and that they had already shared intimate moments, but the word family made it more official, and that gave her vertigo. Hop just exhaled when she didn't say anything. "Joyce. Go back to bed. I'm going to stay a little longer."

"Hop," She started to say, knowing that she had to reply with something, but her mind didn't collaborate with her heart. So there was an awkward silence.

He saw the conflict and didn't want to press her further. It was three in the morning, after all. Asking for more would be intrusive. "I just drank a cup of coffee, so I won't be able to sleep anyway. The only thing I could do would be to bother you, turning in bed." He admitted.

"You're right." She replied at last. "We live under the same roof and, whether we like it or not, we also share children ... and ..." She hesitated for a moment that seemed eternal to him. It was as if it was too hard for her to digest the word family. Lonnie must have been a complete asshole.

Joyce shook her head. "Bring me a coffee of yours. And tell me what you've found out."

Hop gave her a half-smile, content that at least she wanted to share his sleepless night, so he led her into the living room. Mrs. Hammond's report awaited them there.

At first glance, it seemed that Hopper was probably the messiest investigator in history. All the papers were lying on the floor in no specific order. Soon she realized that each of them had handwritten annotations following some kind of pattern that probably made sense in his head, she couldn't judge him either, she had no idea how to investigate a crime.

"Please, Hop. It's three in the morning. Give me a summary as brief as possible." Joyce asked reluctantly. After all, she was sleepy and just wanted them to get back to bed as soon as possible.

"Ok." He agreed, nodding. "It was not a robbery. It was a premeditated murder." He spoke almost without blinking.

Joyce snorted in disbelief. Yes, he knew how to summarize, too much for an accusation of that size. "Of course. And you've somehow deduced that by looking at photocopies of the crime scene photos, by the way, a crime scene that you have not stepped on or seen?" She almost laughed sarcastically. Had he gone mad?

Hopper sighed. "Unfortunately, I've had to see many crimes of all kinds when working as a homicide inspector in New York." His face was grave. "This is not a robbery, believe me."

She glanced at him, concerned. That statement made her feel uncomfortable. Yes, she remembered he had been an inspector, but she had never stopped to think about what that implied. It was as if that atrocity was normal for him, and then she was startled to think that there was a part of him she didn't know. It was true that they never talked about his life in New York, but Joyce always thought it brought back bad memories about his loss, so she never dared to ask him either. That part of his life was a complete mystery for her. She tried to get those thoughts out of her mind focusing on the case.

"Why hasn't the police realized it?" She insisted, unable to believe him yet.

"Joyce. Do you remember any murder like that at Hawkins? Wait. Do you remember a murder in Hawkins in the last, I don't know, fifty years?"

"No."

"Exactly. No Hawkins officer has ever seen a murder, let alone an undercover one. They wouldn't know how to distinguish it."

"But you do." She replied with an uneasy sensation. "How did you know?"

"As you can see, the body was placed in a position indicating that she died struggling." His finger pointed at the photos. It was evident that he had studied them in detail. "Besides, the woman's bag was found next to her corpse. Without any valuables, nor did her purse or any money appear."

"That's what it says in the report. Reaffirms the theory of the police, you know?" No. He wasn't going to drag her into the mud of paranoia.

"Yes. But," Hopper started to say, releasing another detail photo of the corpse. "Hammond died of a shot wound to the head. Right on the temple. Too precise to be struggling, don't you think?"

"Well, maybe it could happen. The killer could have been holding her or…"

Hopper ignored her to continue his explanation. "And then there's the bag. The thief would have taken it as loot, and calmly inspected it elsewhere. Who kills someone in the middle of the street, stops to take valuables from the bag, and then leaves it with the victim again?"

"One with no hurry?" Objected Joyce, who wanted to believe that there was no neurotic intrigue behind this unfortunate crime.

Hopper raised an eyebrow. How could she be so stubborn? Well, here was the final clue. "And there is more. This woman didn't die here."

"Excuse me?"

Hopper moved closer to her as if to reveal a great mystery. "This woman was killed elsewhere and then her body was placed here, leaving all evidence to make it look like a theft."

She shocked her head. "And how the hell do you know that?"

"Because of the blood," He replied with a confident grin.

Joyce was uneasy at his excited mood. He pointed to a pool of blood under Mrs. Hammond's head. "There is very little blood. The puddle should be at least twice as big for such a wound."

"And the coroner wouldn't have noticed that?" She tried one last time to take apart his guess.

Hopper pointed to one of the pages in the report. Apparently, that fateful day coincided with one in which the coroner wasn't in town. So the autopsy was done directly at the morgue.

"It seems that our killer was very lucky." She pointed out, realizing that Hop may be right.

"No, Joyce. This ... was premeditated, in detail. And somehow, it also took into account the day Gary was not at Hawkins. Whoever the killer is, he has a lot of information."

Joyce started to get nervous. "Do you think it could have been the government?" It was the first thing that occurred to her, but after her experience, it could be them.

"I thought that too. But I called Owens, and he swore twice that they had nothing to do with it." He admitted.

"So ... Could it have been ... the Russians?"

Hopper made a disapproving gesture. "It's not their style. They don't like leaving evidence. If it had been them, the body would never have appeared." A shiver ran down his spine at the thought.

"So…?" She asked anxiously and unaware of his change of mood.

"That's the problem, Joyce. Whoever did this knew perfectly well how to cover it up. He has followed the manual guideline, done all the steps to make it look like an unfortunate robbery. Whoever he was ... knew perfectly well what he was doing. He isn't just any murderer… And that, that worries me, Joyce."

She shook her head vehemently. It was crazy, an authentic paranoid theory. It couldn't be. "Do you realize it looks like you're talking about the assassination of Kennedy?"

Hopper rubbed his face. "I'm concerned that someone goes to so much trouble to get someone out of the way. And that he does it so well… " He confessed troubled.

"And why would someone do something like that? I mean, she was a school history teacher, she wasn't anyone... important?"

"You don't have to be someone important, Joyce. Just... do the wrong thing or stay at the wrong place." He sighed, tired. "I'm stuck there. I really didn't know her. I would need to know her customs, her friends, what happened that day..." His gaze felt over her.

"Don't look at me. Will is a good student, I didn't have to talk with teachers, so I didn't know her."

"But you know Scott Clark." His voice was full of sarcasm.

"Seriously? Grow up, Hop." She spat back but suddenly felt silent. "But I know someone who can help us with that." Her fingers snapped. "Yes. Do you want to know everything about her? Let's ask the most nosy person in town."

Hop blinked puzzled but quickly guessed who it was. "Please tell me it's not ..."

Joyce nodded smiling.

"For heaven's sake." He said rolling his eyes, clearly annoyed. If gossiping had a name, it would be Karen Wheeler. Too many Wheelers in his life.

**To be continued.**

Author's note: Ok, you can hate me for not writing in a very long time... but, please, let me know if you're still interested in this crazy story :) Your comments help a lot.


	30. Not what you need

Hi all! Thank you for your follows and favorites, especially to your fantastic reviews:

Elinrut: I'm glad that you liked it. I hope you enjoy this one too.

Lazypotato123: I'm on it! Thank you!

And of course, as always, I want to thank my superb beta-reader AnnieRavenClaw707, for being so great and kind! ;) Thank you!

* * *

**Chapter 30: Not what you need.**

.

Several girls entered the video store, chewing gum and laughing among themselves. They approached the counter to drop a couple of VHS videotapes.

"Wow, look who we have here. Can I help you with something? Do you need me to recommend a movie?" Steve asked behind the counter.

"No!" One of the girls almost cried. "Your last recommendation almost made us vomit with disgust."

"Yes, dude." Said another one. "It was so gross when that thing comes out of his gut…"

Steve looked at the cover of the tape: 'Alien'. "But it's the best part of the movie." He complained.

"Well, do you know the best part of coming here today? That we won't return anymore." The girl stated as the others giggled after her and stormed out of the store.

"Another lost customer?" Robin inquired from behind him.

"One with bad taste." Steve opened the case. "Damn it! And she hasn't rewound it! Seriously, the next one who brings me a tape without rewinding, I'll take away their membership card!" Steve stated so loud that Robin chided him. After all, she didn't want to lose any more clients.

"Come on, Steve. Don't be a picky eater." The girl replied, laughing.

Harrington put the tape on a VHS to rewind it, and meanwhile, he looked out the window into infinity. Or maybe not. Robin looked at the same place and saw Jonathan and Nancy, sitting on the hood of a car drinking some soft drinks and eating snacks.

"Do you miss her?" Robin intuited with the insight that characterized her.

"You can't miss something you've never had," Steve replied, taking the tape out of the player and putting it back into the cover with ease. Robin raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Wow. That has sounded very mature. It's unlike you."

Steve looked at her with mockery. "Also, if they are here, that means..."

"Yes. Your children arrived a long time ago. They're in the backroom, told me they needed a place to meet and talk about their things," Robin continued casually. "Seriously, Steve. You can't let them use the backroom all the time."

"Oh! They are here, and you haven't told me?!" He responded, throwing the tape as he ran towards the back door.

Robin put her hands on her waist and huffed indignantly at the pile of tapes that were still unplaced. "I was wrong. You're still immature."

* * *

Joyce gripped a steaming cup of tea in both hands. That drink was not one of her favorites, but December was cold, and any hot drink was welcome. Besides, the hospitality that she always received at her friend's house was pleasant. Karen had even taken out a cupcake. Of course, her friend was the perfect housewife and not the disaster she had been.

That's why Joyce preferred to go to Wheeler's house instead of inviting her friend to hers. Also, while conversing with Karen was good, Joyce had come to try to gather information about Mrs. Hammond. There was no one more nosy in all of Hawkins than her friend. It was incredible, not a leaf moved in town without her finding out.

"Thank you so much, Karen, you shouldn't have bothered," Joyce spoke with a grateful smile.

"Oh, Joyce, please. It's the least I can do. I've missed you these months. I still can't believe you're back."

"Yes, well, I can't believe it either," Joyce said, laughing nervously. "And how about the children?" She asked to break the ice.

"Well, Mike lately has his head in the clouds. Adolescence isn't a good time, as you may already know. Lots of hormones in his body." Karen remarked. "Nancy found a job in a magazine. It's a new style, you should read it. She makes great photos. I don't know where she learn to do that."

Joyce grimaced wryly. Karen found out about everything except what was happening in her own house. Of course, Jonathan would have taught Nancy to take good photos.

"But let's not talk about my concerns. You know that this house is extremely monotonous. Tell me about you. A lot of rumors have spread these past few days," Karen explained, sipping her cup while looking with interest at Joyce.

Joyce was angered. She had gone to get information, not to have it taken from her. Damn. That was what it meant to have gossip for a friend, although curiosity won her. "Rumors? What rumors?"

"Well, they say you haven't come back alone," Karen asserted with feigned nonchalance. It was evident that she already knew that Joyce had returned with Hop but wanted to hear her say it. Rumors fly in Hawkins.

"Yes, well." Joyce suddenly felt insecure. What should she say? The official version of Hopper's return was crazy, but she had to stick to it.

"Yes. I'm back with Hopper. You know that we were always good friends." She affirmed, trying to downplay it.

Karen set her cup down on the table. "It's something temporary? While you find a house or something like that?"

Joyce blinked, she knew her friend wasn't asking for asking. "Are you hinting at something, Karen?"

"Oh, Joyce, please. You already know that I'm your friend, and therefore I want the best for you. But Hawkins is a cruel town, and people whisper."

_I knew it. I just knew it._ Joyce thought. "I don't give a damn what people say." She replied with contained rage. It was not the type of conversation she would have preferred.

"I know, Joyce. I know. But the truth is that living in the same house," Karen paused for a moment, clearly searching not to hurt her. "Without going to the church, it's too modern for a place like this. Not that it's important to me, of course, but you know what the rest of the neighbors will say."

Joyce was puzzled. She thought that people would whisper by explaining how Hopper was still alive after being buried, but no, what seemed wrong to them was that they lived together under the same roof without being married? Marriage. God, what a disastrous word. And that damn puritan people, those matters did not happen in the city. Why were they back?!

At Joyce's silence, Karen fraternally took her hand. "Joyce. If you need to talk, I'm here."

"I'm fine." Byers snorted, "We are fine." The conversation was becoming more surreal. Why did she have to be justifying herself?

"Of course," Karen replied, condescendingly. "I will continue to be here for when you need to speak."

Joyce angrily dropped her mug._ When do you need to speak?_ She didn't care at all what they might say about them. They had already said horrible things about her. Like that she was crazy, or that she was a bad wife who had been abandoned by her husband. Did she think that whispering would make her life bitter?

"Karen. What the hell do you want to tell me?" Joyce spat back.

"I appreciate you, Joyce. And so I must tell you that after everything you've been through," Karen did not know how to put it into words, seeing how her friend crossed her arms decided that it was best to speak clearly. "Jim Hopper is not exactly the type of man you need in your life. He will only make you suffer."

"What?! How dare you? You don't know him!" Joyce almost screamed.

"No. I'm probably the only woman in all of Hawkins who doesn't know him," Karen replied sarcastically. "Come on, Joyce, wake up! Hopper has a very bad reputation. Seriously, it was only a couple of years ago when a daughter from another previous flirting suddenly arrived at him. Surely he has more unknown children out there."

Joyce noticed that she was hyperventilating. Of course, Karen was talking about El. The truth is, that explanation was bullshit, but Hopper wasn't very good at excusing himself, and since he didn't give a damn about what other people said, that had been the official version. In what other ways could you justify that El is your daughter?

Joyce had always thought that she was Hawkins' worst-regarded for being the divorced mother with two dependent children, but of course, Hopper had been on target for a long time too.

"You can think what you want, but when Hop was the chief of police, there weren't as many crimes as now." Joyce pointed out acidly, trying to redirect the conversation.

"Oh. I guess you mean poor Mrs. Hammond. A pity without a doubt."

Joyce suddenly felt dizzy. She didn't know if it was the tea she never drank, or that Karen was throwing those truth bombs, to think that she could be right, somehow.

"Are you ok? You have suddenly turned pale." Karen asked, worriedly.

"Bathroom?" Joyce asked, feeling her stomach churn with fury.

"The bottom right."

Joyce made an effort to smile and excuse herself. She had barely reached the hall when she noticed how her legs were shaking. With trembling hands, she had to hold onto the wall.

"Joyce!" She heard Karen cried, before passing out.

"Oh, my God. Ted! TEEEED! Call an ambulance!"

* * *

All the boys looked at each other expectantly. "Are you sure?" Lucas asked incredulously.

"Yes. Last night I heard noises, and I'm usually a light sleeper, so I woke up and saw my mother and Hopper talk about the report." Will stated, a second time, somewhat annoyed that they did not believe him. "The chief believes that the crime happened elsewhere, and the murderer placed the evidence to make the police believe it was a robbery."

"Bad men?" El asked, shaking Mike's hand, concerned.

"Oh, my God!" Steve grew impatient. "Russians! It's the Russians again!"

Will shook his head. "Hopper thinks it's not them."

"But he doesn't know for sure. They could be them. They could still be here." Mike agreed. "They were here already. Don't forget that."

"The government stopped them. And the ones that were left. Well, Hopper took care of them in our old house," Will said with a shrug.

Dustin opened his mouth excitedly. "Like the sheriff of a western! You have a lot to tell us!"

"Not funny." El snapped at him, remembering that her family could have died that night.

Dustin realized he had talked too much. "Ok, I'm sorry. But if it wasn't the Russians, and neither was the government, then it's someone from the town, right?"

Mike got up off the ground, determined. "You're right. We hadn't thought about it. And also, it's someone, according to Hopper, who knows inside information."

"We could make a list of the people that could be the bad men," El suggested casually.

"Like a list of suspects?" Mike asked excitedly.

The girl shrugged uncertainly. "It's what they always do at Miami Vice."

* * *

The beer bottle was already half empty. It had been a long time since Hopper drank that drink, and it was tasting of glory.

"So, the last witness who saw Mrs. Hammond alive is the local drunk. Damn it." Hopper told, setting the beer on the table. "Is there anything else that is against us to solve this crime?"

Powell looked at him from across the bar table wryly. "Well, the truth is that this case has made all of us nervous. These things never happen at Hawkins."

"I know," Hopper replied, leaning back in the bar chair. "Well, then what exactly did he say?"

"Not much else, you know that Johnny would deviate a lot, the alcohol..."

"Humor me, Powell."

"Ok. He said that the day before, he saw her, filling up gasoline on the county road at forty-seven. But, Johnny, he's not a legit witness, you know he's always drunk. He might even mistake her for another woman."

"And no one else saw her since that day?"

"No. The next day, she didn't go to class anymore."

"And was she heading towards forty-seven? That goes to the highway. To get out of Hawkins," Hopper scratched his chin, lost in thoughts. Nothing fitted. If he was right, Mrs. Hammond was assaulted that day, because she no longer came to work the next one. In the afternoon, a patrol would find the body in the street. Perfectly positioned, with all the false evidence. Hopper had studied the report so much, that he knew it by heart.

Powell brought him out of his thoughts. "Hey, don't take Johnny too seriously. It's obvious that he was wrong. The car appeared at her house, so she didn't go anywhere."

"The car appeared at her house?" Hopper asked, baffled.

"Shit," Powell cursed, getting quite uncomfortable.

"What happens?" Hopper asked upon seeing the official's change of mood.

"Our tranquility has just disappeared," Powell mumbled, annoyed, trying to look away.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Look who we have here." Chief Hartman said approaching them, along with another police officer that Hopper recognized instantly, it was the one he had hit days before. Fantastic. More problems. "Why is it that I'm not surprised to see you at the bar, Powell?"

"I'm not on duty, chief." The policeman defended himself.

"Of course," Hartman recalled, fixing his gaze on Hoppers. "And I see that with not very acceptable companies." He pointed out when he instantly recognized the man who days before had arrested for disrespecting him.

Hop chuckled at that. He hoped the situation would calm down if he kept quiet. But to his dismay, Powell did not. "I couldn't be in better company. Hopper has always been a good neighbor to Hawkins and a good friend. And his return deserves a good drink. If you excuse us?"

"Hopper, huh?" Hartman replied, looking at Hop with an inquiring look. It was clear that he was not going to forget the name even a million years.

"See you tomorrow at the office, Powell." He said, in an extremely acid tone, which made it clear that this would cost him overtime the next day. After all, he was still his boss.

Hop watched as the new chief and the other policeman approached the bar to speak to the owner.

"God. I hate Bert and Ernie," Powell murmured, taking a drink from his beer.

"Bert and Ernie?" Sesame Street? Seriously? Hopper was surprised by those nicknames. They were so unfit for Powell. It made him think which one they'd put him. "Those nicknames were chosen by Flo, right?"

"Yeah, Hartman and Winston. They always go everywhere together. There seems to be no more patrol than theirs." Powell sighed. "They say they worked together in Indianapolis. So when Hartman fired the other policemen, he asked for Winston's transfer here. Can you believe it?"

"They must be very good friends to move from the capital to this town slum, right?"

"I'm surprised you say that," Powell admitted.

"You know I did it for other reasons," Hop replied as his face darkened.

"Hey. Shall we ask for another round?" Powell suggested, regretting having reminded him of bad times.

"No. I have to return home."

"Wow," Powell hissed with a laugh. "Who was going to say that the woman who would make you settle down would be Joyce Byers, eh?"

Hopper almost rolled his eyes but instead, he just said goodbye to the policeman. As he left the bar, his hand reached into his pocket to take out a cigarette. As soon as the first puff of smoke came out of his mouth, he saw an ambulance rush by.

**To be continued.**

Autor's note: Woah, we've reached chapter 30! Tbh, I never thought of writing it so far. I hope you're still enjoying it, let me know if that's so. :)


	31. The headache

Thank you so much for your support and reviews! You rock!

LeAnn388: Thank you very much for your kind words. I hope you enjoy this chapter too! :)

afanofstrangerthingsandstuff: Woah. I couldn't believe you read this story first thing in the morning lol. I'm so happy. :D

donnaboo17: Yeah, It's Eight, sorry, my bad. Thank you for your review!

And, as always, I want to thank AnnieRavenClaw707, my super beta-reader for making this story much easier for me. Thank you!

**Note: The first part of the chapter will make sense at the end of it.**

* * *

**Chapter 31: The headache**

**.**

The next morning the world continued to turn around the sun. Hop and the boys had long gone down to breakfast. Joyce had excused herself, saying that her head ached. And it wasn't a lie. She kept thinking about what happened the day before. It was so unexpected that she couldn't believe it had happened to her. It hasn't happened, it's impossible! She thought as her body shrank on the bed.

After the fainting at the Wheeler's house, they were so worried that they had called an ambulance. By the time they arrived at the hospital, she had recovered her senses, although the doctors did not take long to carry out the usual check-ups to verify that everything was fine. And no. Her luck expired a long time ago. She was not ok. Not at all! And she was pretty sure that her situation was not going to improve. In fact, she was scared to death.

_"Are you ok, Joyce?" Karen asked as she saw her friend leaving the medical consultation. "What did the doctor tell you?"_

_"Oh, it's nothing." Joyce tried to smile. "Apparently, it's just anxiety after the move. Lots of changes lately." She continued, dismissing it._

_"Are you sure? I could call Jonathan."_

_"No! I'm ok. It was just a little scare. I'd appreciate it if you'd take me home if it's not too much trouble."_

_"Oh, of course not."_

Joyce hugged a bed cushion to her chest as if her life depended on it. She hadn't dared say anything to either Hopper or the children. Most of all, she was afraid to tell Hopper. What if Karen was right? Joyce's experience with men had been awful and did not want to suffer again. Least of all now! Suddenly a chill ran down her spine. But what if truly, Karen was right? How would Hop react to that news?

Her eyes clenched, hoping that in her room, her little bubble of tranquility would be unbreakable and could hide her from the rest of the world. Why did these things happen to her? Her eyelids tightened. She didn't want to open them. The stress became so intense that she felt her eyes moisten, screaming compassion.

It was then that she noticed a hand stroking her shoulder, and she opened her eyes immediately only to meet Hop's concerned gaze. "Hey," He spoke softly. "Sorry to tell you that the boys haven't left you a single eggo for breakfast." He announced, trying to cheer her up.

Joyce deftly looked down, trying to hide behind the cushion. "It's ok."

"Are _you_ ok?" He asked, helping her to sit on the bed. "Since you came back yesterday from Karen's, you've been acting very strange. Any gossip that I should know?"

_Yes, and very important!_ Joyce thought as she smiled nervously. "Well, uh, nothing interesting. Only we almost argued." Ok, technically, it was not a lie.

Hopper winced. "Wheelers," He muttered the name as if it were a curse. "And could I ask why you almost scolded miss perfect?"

Joyce smiled a bit at that nickname. "Oh, well. Apparently, you seem to be a bad influence on me." That's it. She had let it fly.

"I, what?!" He replied with an outburst. "The only one who is a bad influence is her damn nosy son!"

Joyce watched him for a moment. In other circumstances, she would laugh at that childish response, but not then. His hands were still resting on her shoulders, protectively, and those blue eyes were so crystalline they couldn't hide the worry and a hint of pain.

Without saying a single word, Joyce leaned against Hop's chest, knowing that he would just hug her without hesitation. It was a habit already, and it was then that she was terrified. She didn't want Hopper to disappear from her life, again. He would not do it, right? Her hands gripped him tightly, realizing it was the same thing she had thought of Loonie years ago. Oh, God, Lonnie.

"We don't need Karen's blessing," He stated after a while, doing his best to sound confident, although he was unable to hide his fear of what the Wheeler might have placed in Joyce's head about him. She seemed quite concerned. "Right?" He added worriedly when she did not reply.

Joyce tried to take advantage of that moment, stealing it for herself. She had to tell him. He should know! With unusual slowness, she pulled away from him and looked the man, right in the eye. No. It was impossible, her gaze glanced away in a rush.

"I have to tell you something." Her voice was barely audible.

He saw her hesitate, and the worry soon turned to unease, yet he said nothing, waiting for her to take the first step. Whatever it was, she was having trouble saying it.

"I, we, well, Hop, I," Joyce noticed how the air was beginning to run out, and she thought she would pass out again. That did not go unnoticed for him.

"Joyce, look at me." He ordered her. "Take a deep breath, ok? Now expire it. Well, that's it. In, out, good." He couldn't believe he was witnessing a hint of anxiety from her. "Joyce, please, you know you can trust me, right? Whatever you want to tell me, I'm here. Even if I'm a bad influence."

Joyce breathed in again while avoiding his gaze. Of course, she trusted him, but she didn't dare to tell him what she had to say. It was not the best time. Not yet. She faked a smile. "Hop," She began, taking his hand. "I've been thinking a lot, and this house is quite big."

"Don't you like it?" He questioned, trying to humor her.

"Yes, it's fantastic. But it's also very expensive, and right now, we have a huge family and only your government pension." She stated, releasing his hand. "I'm going to go apply for a job at Melvard's. I'm sure they could readmit me. I have known the owner for many years." She told, firmly.

"Joyce," Hopper started "I, honestly, think Owens has stretched quite a bit with the pension assigned to me. We aren't the snobs of the neighborhood. Until a year ago, El and I lived in a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere. We coped well with very little." He admitted with a hint of remorse.

Joyce bit her lower lip. "Hopper. Whether you like it or not, I'm going to go apply for a job," She spoke so vehemently that he was surprised. "We are going to need it!" She added abruptly.

The man blinked several times a little confused. "Yeah, ok." His face showed concern. Joyce had changed her mood, from frightened to irritated, in less than a hundredth of a second. Was she upset with him? Was she scolding him for something? Wait a minute. Should he start looking for a job? Was she calling him lazy? For heaven's sake, he didn't have a moment to rest, did he?

He thought that the government's pay was more than enough. Joyce was not the kind of woman who attached importance to money. Because she wasn't, was it? He wasn't sure about anything anymore!

"Ok," Hop added one more time. He got up, shaking his head and heading for the door of the room. Before crossing it, he turned to look at her. "The kids want me to take them to the video store. They've found a new basement there to hide from the sunlight." He spoke dramatically, trying to downplay it. "On the way, I'll go to the pharmacy to buy more paracetamol for your headache, ok?" He said, hoping that her weird mood was a consequence of the headache and nothing more.

She nodded without adding anything else and watched him disappear down the hall. "Shit," She murmured, throwing herself face down on the cushion. She felt terrible because of how she had treated him. She was not angry with him but with herself. At that time, she also hated Karen for putting absurd ideas in her head.

* * *

Jonathan heard several soft knocks on the door. With great discretion, he opened to meet a radiant Nancy on the other side.

"Are you really alone?" She asked with a bold tone.

"Yes, well, more or less," He replied muttering. "Hopper and the kids have gone to the video store and my mother, well, she's in her room. Her head hurts a little, so yes, we're alone."

Nancy smirked but soon realized something. "Isn't your mother better?"

"What do you mean isn't she better? She just woke up with a headache."

The girl put her hands on her waist. "But yesterday she was in the hospital. My parents called an ambulance and everything."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

* * *

Hopper left the pharmacy with the medicine for Joyce. Just as he was going to get back in the car, he frowned and turned again to see the store window. His mind quickly realized that he knew the address. Directly opposite was the house where, according to the police report, Mrs. Hammond lived. To his surprise, someone was in the garden, putting a post. He shrugged and went to investigate.

"Good Morning. Sorry for the intrusion, but I see that you have just put up a post to sell the house," Hop said casually, trying to put on his best smile.

The man turned in surprise. "Wow, how fast. Are you the real estate agent?"

"Oh, no, no. I'm Jim Hopper," He said, offering him his hand. "I just came to Hawkins, and I'm trying to meet the new neighbors."

"Ah, well, I'm Robert Hammond," He replied, shaking his hand. "If you are looking for meeting new neighbors, you're late, I'm afraid." The man sighed. "It was my sister who lived in this house."

"Oh, wow. Are you moving then?"

Steven's face darkened. "She passed away several weeks ago."

Hopper feigned surprise, hating himself for it. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Yeah. It was so sudden," Hammond admitted, as he dropped another box in the garden. "I didn't saw her in a while. We talked on the phone and that, but I live in the capital, you know? I still can't believe Alice isn't here."

"It must have been hard to receive news like that if it was your sister, she had to be young, right? I'm so sorry I made you remember something so sad."

"Don't worry, Hopper. You didn't know it. I guess I have to get used to it. Although if you know someone who wants the house, you could help me solve some problems."

Hopper crossed his arms, looking at the boy and feeling sorry for him right away. "Wow. Just a couple of weeks ago I bought a house here. But," Hop felt terrible about having to lie to him, but he needed information about the crime and couldn't play the card of impersonating the police. "What I'm looking for it's a car. I don't know if you would like to sell one?"

Robert's face lit up instantly. "Alice's car is in the garage. If you want to see it? It could interest you."

"That sounds great," Hop admitted, and this time it was not a lie. He needed to inspect the car that had mysteriously turned up at the victim's home. Since he had spoken to Powell, it was clear that this was the missing piece of the puzzle.

If Mrs. Hammond was on the way to the highway the day she was assaulted, the car would be on the road, not in her house. The only possibility that the car was in her house is that it was the killer himself who placed it there.

It was the last loose end to corroborate that the body finally appeared in the streets of Hawkins, and simulate the robbery there. It was perfect if you wanted to focus the crime very far from where it had happened. It was increasingly clear that nothing was a coincidence.

* * *

"Are you sure this is necessary?" Jonathan asked as he watched the door, anxious.

Nancy opened several drawers in the living room, searching through some papers. "Listen to me. Do you want to know what happens to your mother, or not?"

"Yes, of course, but,"

"Hey. My mother saw Joyce very nervous yesterday. And she doesn't tell you that she was in the hospital? Don't you realize there is something strange?"

"Yes, but searching the house to find a medical report doesn't seem right to me. I think it would be best to just ask her."

Nancy rolled her eyes. "She doesn't tell you that she was in the hospital yesterday and you think she's going to tell you what's going on? She told my mother that it had only been an anxiety attack."

"It could be just that, right?"

"It's what we are trying to find out. What kind of journalist are you?" Nancy asked in disbelief. Think, Jonathan. If your mother had to hide a document that she wouldn't want anyone to find, where would she hide it?"

"I, I don't know. I don't like spying on my mother, you know?" Jonathan protested acidly as he kept watching the stairs. "Although, in the other house... We had a notebook with the secret code for Murray's messages."

"Secret code?"

"It's a very long history." He replied, shooking his head. "She kept it in the cutlery drawer, just under the tray."

Nancy opened several drawers until she found it. "Bingo!" She exclaimed, taking a folder under the silverware tray. It was undoubtedly the medical report. She opened it right away.

The girl read quickly until she got to the observations in the report. It could be read in capital letters: Positive Pregnant.

"Oh, my God." Nancy closed it quickly, astonished, as she heard footsteps from the stairs.

**To be continued.**

**Autor's Note**: Ok. This was an unexpected ending even for me, but while I was writing, I thought… what the hell! I hope you like it. Just let me know what you think. :)


	32. Clueless

**Hi all! Sorry for the delay in updating this. My little niece doesn't like to behave these days lol... Anyway, thank you for your patience. I hope you're still interested in this new chapter. Of course, as always, I have to thank my great beta reader, AnnieRavenClaw707 :) Thank youuuu!**

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**Chapter 32: Clueless**

**.**

Hopper was late. As usual. El sighed tiredly "One of these days, I'm going to set his watch forward. So even if he's late, he would arrive on time."

"He would be late anyway." Mike laughed as he sat next to her and Will.

"You should go like the others, or your parents will yell at you. We will wait here. Also, we still have some smoothies left." The girl advised him.

"And leave you here? No way, no day." The Wheeler boy responded, ready to be a Prince Charming. More or less.

Will rolled his eyes. He was starting to get sick of so much sugar in the air. "We should add more names to our list of suspects." Sulkily, he tried to sip his smoothie but someone hit him on the back, making him soak up the pink liquid. "Ouch!"

"Oh, wow. Look who does not even know how to drink from a glass. It's the zombie boy, the babe, and the geek." Troy announced after them, accompanied by three boys from the school.

"Hey, leave him alone!" El exclaimed angrily, recognizing him instantly.

"Or what? Are you going to launch me into the air in a crowded place?" He asked sarcastically. "Or maybe you're going to run to ask your adulterous parents for help?"

The girl blinked incredulously. She didn't know what to answer. "Get lost." She advised him.

Troy threw up his hands in surrender, and they laughed out of the arcade.

The girl turned to Mike in a rush. "What does it mean, adulterous?"

Mike scratched his hair, lost in words.

El shooked her head. "I'll ask Hop. He knows all the words."

"No!" Mike yelled suddenly.

"Why not?" She asked annoyed, and a bit clueless.

Will hesitated a moment. "Because it's something very ugly, and he won't like it."

El crossed her arms, in need of a proper answer.

* * *

Hopper inspected Mrs. Hammond's vehicle thoroughly, at least as allowed by its new owner, Robert, the victim's brother. He hoped to find some sort of clue in the car. To his chagrin, the interior of the vehicle was as clean as a whistle. Of course, he should have known it. After all, the killer had been very meticulous with all the details.

Somewhat disappointed, and frowning, Hop looked outside. Something wasn't right. The tires of the car were cleaner than the body itself. Usually, it was the other way around, wasn't it?

He squatted close to the wheels for inspection. They had been cleaned for sure. Luckily, it was extremely difficult to remove all of the dirt from the interior of the tire tread. There was a trail embedded in mud, with what appeared to be dried ash leaves. They all had that dirt except one, which looked new.

The afternoon before Mrs. Hammond's murder it had rained a lot, so it could be that Johnny's testimony was true after all, and she indeed drove down the highway. Or at least her car.

"You seem very interested in the condition of the wheels. Wouldn't you want to see the engine?" Hammond asked behind him.

"Oh, sorry. I don't understand much about engines." Hopper replied, recalling his painful attempt to fix his blazer in the middle of the forest, and how it ended up exploding while being chased by the Russian version of Arnold Schwarzenegger. He would always think it was Alexei's fault. That man had the power to unnerve anyone. Yes, it must be that. He couldn't be that clumsy, could he?

"Of course not. You are much better at other things, Mr. Hopper." A voice announced behind them. Hopper was surprised and did not hesitate to turn around. Leaning against the ajar door of the garage was Chief Hartman, looking at him questioningly.

"Is everything okay, chief? Is there anything new about my sister's case?" Hammond asked, just as surprised as Hopper.

"Yes, everything is fine. We're still investigating your sister's case. Don't worry. We'll solve it." Hartman replied with a dry gaze that he soon turned to Hopper. "You. Let's go. We need to talk." He said, gesturing towards the outside of the house.

Hartman was a jerk, Hop did not doubt it, but the policeman did not seem stupid. He also didn't know how long he had been listening to them, but maybe long enough to know what he was up to. Hopper rubbed his hands on his pants and, after saying goodbye to Hammond, walked towards the storm.

As soon as they were far enough from the house, Hartman did not hesitate to look down on him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He spoke angrily. "Doesn't this poor boy have enough to cope with the death of his sister?"

"What's wrong with wanting to buy a car?" Hopper snapped at him, fed up with the man's delusions of power.

Hartman snorted as he put his hands on his waist. "I've done my homework. So don't go overboard with me," He replied so acidly that Hopper raised an eyebrow surprised.

"I was quite surprised to see you yesterday with Powell at the bar and much more, to see how he defended you," The policeman continued, his voice full of irony. "I assumed that in such a small town, someone would recognize a returning old neighbor." He laughed wryly.

Hopper couldn't believe that the man was capable of smiling, the gesture didn't fit that face. "I admit that I was surprised to discover that you are actually the former chief, and even more so, that you have, apparently, returned from the dead." He stated at the same time that his smile vanished almost as fast as it had appeared.

The other man was going to reply, but Hartman didn't let him, patting Hop's chest with his finger. "I don't give a damn where you've been these months, but now this town is under my jurisdiction. This case is a matter for the Hawkins police, don't even think about sticking your nose into it."

Hopper frowned, he was not going to fall as easily. "I think that as an American citizen, I have the right to speak to whoever I want and to go wherever I want as long as I don't break any law. Have I broken the law, chief?" He asked, bitterly emphasizing the last word.

Hartman bit his cheek as he pulled a sunglasses from his shirt pocket. "You don't seem to understand the situation. I will clarify it for you." He stepped closer to Hopper. "There's a killer on the loose in my town and if you keep sniffing around, two things could happen."

"Oh yeah?" Hop said crossing his arms. It was clear that he was not going to like the rest of the conversation.

The chief put on his glasses, hiding his gaze behind the lenses. "You could interfere in a police investigation. As you well know, that is punishable by law. And also, if the murderer realizes it, he could see you as a threat and ... well ... a misfortune could happen. In case you haven't noticed, I already have enough with a crime."

Hartman tapped the lapel of his hat as a farewell, it was clear that he would not accept any reply. "Have a good day, Mr. Hopper."

Hop was disappointed. He didn't know how to interpret those words. It was difficult to do so since the police hid his gaze behind the dark glasses, and the tone used was quite neutral. Had he warned him, threatened him, or both?

Why did everyone hate him lately? First Joyce, and now Hartman. He hoped that at least El would be nice to him today, although with Mike at her side he did not hold out much hope. Oh shit. He thought, looking at his wristwatch. It was late to pick them up from the arcade. He surely had a serious problem with punctuality.

* * *

Nancy kept watching as Jonathan went from side to side of the room. He looked like a rabbit that could not find his burrow. "Seriously. Could you stop that?! You're making me nervous!" She snapped at him as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"No! The nervous one is me!" Jonathan exclaimed, pointing a finger at himself. "How could this have happened?" His hands ran over his face. It was barely an hour since he had found out that a baby was on the way, and he still couldn't believe it. Adding El to the family was one thing. Even Hopper. Although he still had a hard time accepting it. But this was totally different. Very different!

"How could it have happened?" The girl scoffed scornfully. "Do you need me to draw you a picture?"

Jonathan winced. "Is it really funny to you?" He spluttered indignantly.

"No. Of course not. But you aren't solving anything." Nancy declared, somewhat surprised by his reaction. She had always thought he liked children. After all, he had always been surrounded by them. The boy nodded as he sat next to her. "I just can't believe it," He admitted with regret. "And why didn't my mother tell us?"

"It's great news. Maybe she is waiting for the right moment?" Nancy pointed out, trying to defend Joyce. Girls in power, she told herself. "Maybe, Hopper already knows."

Jonathan smiled acidly. "No, I don't think so. The foundations of this house would have fallen already."

"I think you underestimate him. She kept El as a secret for almost a year."

Jonathan shook his head again. "No. He doesn't know. Have you seen how my mother is? Today she has barely left her room, I think she is scared. She always does that when she is."

"Why would she be?" Nancy asked, completely lost, to which Jonathan snorted like he was going to make a great effort. "Because… the last time she had to give news of this type, my father didn't take it very well. It got worse ... and in the end, well, you know ... " He stated, looking away. They both stared silently at the opposite wall as if it were the most interesting thing in the room.

"My mother believes that they won't last together. That they're too different." The girl admitted. "In addition to that, it's very bad that you all live together without having gone through marriage. How does she call it? Ah, yes, obscenity and indecency." She declared, dramatically.

"Well, do you know what the chief calls your mother? Miss perfect." Jonathan replied. They both laughed for a few seconds and then fell silent again.

"In a way," The boy started. "Your mother is right. They're very different, but… I ... I just want my mother to be happy, and the chief makes her happy. That is enough for me." He finished thoughtfully. Nancy started to smile again. "Well, in that case, it looks like the adults are going to need a little extra help."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm coming up with a plan." She replied, with a malevolent grimace.

To be continued.

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Hi! I know that I'm a bit slow with the investigation part, but we're getting there, I promiseeee! :) Anyway, if you liked it leave a comment. Thanks!


	33. Pending conversations

**Hi there! I hope you're all ok. Here is another chapter :) **

**As always, I want to thank my beta-reader AnnieRavenclaw707 for being so kind and patience!**

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**Chapter 33: Pending conversations**

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It was only a few months since El had started going to school for the first time. It was very challenging to pick up the pace of study and understand some subjects. Admittedly, first Hopper, and later her friends, had helped her better understand the world and the words. But expressing herself was still a problem, and now they wanted her to memorize a speech?

"It won't work." She huffed tiredly from her chair.

"Of course it will," Nancy responded, trying to cheer her up. "Plus it's easy,"

"And why don't you tell him?" El asked, with an inquiring stare towards Jonathan.

The boy shrugged. "He won't listen to me, but he will to you."

"And can't we leave it for tomorrow? Why is it so urgent? I'm tired." The girl complained exhausted.

Nancy sat next to El. "I know you're tired but believe me, it's important,"

El narrowed her eyes questioningly. "Why?" She asked again.

"Because ..." Nancy was speechless. She couldn't be the one to break the news about the baby, so she sought moral support from Jonathan, who just nodded.

"Because it's the right thing to do. Like in the movies." He knew that El liked romantic movies more and more these days, so he hoped that although it was a cheap excuse, she would buy it.

He was lucky. El seemed to think about it for a moment and finally nodded convinced. "Could Mike be with me?" She asked with hope.

"What? No!" Nancy exclaimed, shocked. "This is an important speech, from daughter to father, there cannot be Mike. In any way." Of course, not to mention the already known hatred between the two of them.

"Nancy is right. Hopper _hates_ me. I can't be there!" Mike added, totally terrified at the idea of being present in that speech.

El sighed as she stared again at the paper, crumpling between her fingers. It was absurd.

* * *

Heavily, his feet up the last rungs of the stairs. When Jonathan got to the room, he sighed as his fingers tapped on the door.

"Mum?" The boy called her, as his glance observed a trail of smoke, rising from an ashtray by the window. There were a few extinguished cigarettes there. He knew she only smoked when she was nervous, but she shouldn't do it now. What was she thinking?

"Are you ok? You've been up here all day." He spoke, despite knowing the answer.

"What? Oh, yeah. It's just that my head, it still hurts a little." Joyce lied blatantly.

Jonathan shook his head and closed the door behind him. "I know you were in the hospital yesterday. Nancy told me." Enough with the lies.

Joyce sighed. Who was she trying to fool? She knew that, sooner or later, he would find out about that. Karen was Nancy's mother, and that girl was with her son all the time. It was pure mathematics, and foolish to deny it. "Does anyone else know?" She asked, concerned.

"Not yet," He admitted. "But the others should also know. Or at least, _Hopper_." Jonathan replied, emphasizing the last part.

Joyce turned white as milk. "No!" She cried out in distress "It doesn't matter. It was just an anxiety attack." She stated half trembling. "I argued with Karen and ..."

* * *

El looked back. Mike and Nancy waved at her from the hallway. She rolled her eyes as her fingers put the speech paper in her pocket and headed toward the living room of the house. _Ok, here we go._ She thought as her feet entered the place. Hopper was there, studying a table covered with papers.

"What do you do?" El asked trivially, peering at maps and some books on the wooden surface.

When she found out that Hop had gone to the library for books, she thought they were for her, as always, but not this time. All the covers had photos of trees. There was even one about pines. Would he be looking for a tree for the Christmas party? The date was close, and she was excited about it!

"Research." He replied simply, too immersed in the books.

"The murder of Mrs. Hammond?" The girl intuited, still not seeing the relations with the pines, and slightly disappointed that this had nothing to do with Christmas.

"Uhuh." He replied without taking his eyes off the books.

"Trees?" El asked wryly, trying to guess how that could make some sense.

"Yes. The victim's car had remains of a very specific leaf. I'm trying to see where in Hawkins these trees are, so I can know exactly where her car went the day before her death." He responded, almost automatically.

Eleven just nodded and looked at the maps. The silence only broke with a closing book in his hands. It was rare that she didn't ask anything else.

"What is it?" He sighed, leaning back in his chair.

The girl looked down at her hands, noting the crumpled paper inside her shirt pocket. Her throat cleared a little and she finally looked at him. "In recent months, our small family has overcome different obstacles that ..."

* * *

Jonathan continued to listen to his mother's excuse even though his head was far away. He had seen his mother so desperately twice. One when their father abandoned them. The other one when Will disappeared. Both moments were very traumatic for everyone, but especially for her. She couldn't go through it again.

"Mom," He cut her abruptly, not wanting to beat around the bush. "I know I shouldn't have, but I did. I was worried," He licked his lips, nervously. "I read your medical report. I know you're pregnant." He told, lifting a heavy weight off himself.

The woman raised her hands to her mouth and finally sat down, dejectedly, on the edge of the bed. Jonathan expected some kind of answer or even a reprimand but didn't have any. After a deep breath, he sat close to her. It wasn't going to be comfortable for any of them.

* * *

Hop raised an eyebrow, totally stunned at the speech he was listening to, or rather, suffering. "What ... has strengthened our ..." El hesitated a moment, trying to remember the following words. They had always told her that she had a privileged mind because of her powers, but on the opposite, she was not able to learn such a short text._ Damn it._

"You can look at the paper," Hopper pointed out with mischief. Like someone catching a child with his hand in the cookie jar. On the one hand, he was afraid of what she wanted to say through a short written speech. But on the other, it was funny that she had the same struggles as him when he tried to do the same thing months ago. "I don't think you need a piece of paper to tell me anything, though."

El sighed and sat next to him. "Joyce and you ... love each other, don't you?"

_Oh, God._ He thought, starting to get overwhelmed. The beginning of the conversation already foreshadowed something horrible. "Yeah, of course."

"And why don't you have a happy ending like in the movies?" She asked so point-blank that it startled him.

"What do you mean?" Hop replied, throwing the book to the table.

The girl shrugged. "In romantic movies, they always end up together and get married." She spoke without further ado. As if that was the most mundane thing in the world. He couldn't blame her for it either, the little she knew about the world had been taught to her in books and on TV.

The man groaned heavily. "It's not that easy, Kid."

"Why not?" El questioned, crossing her arms.

"Because," Hop suddenly fell silent. Was he going to have that conversation with El? Why couldn't he have a moment of respite? Why couldn't they just live happily without so many requirements?

"Because that's not necessary between us. We're already fine like this." He stated, seeking to end the conversation.

* * *

"Are you ashamed?" Jonathan asked worriedly, trying to find out what his mother was thinking. The answer was a suppressed sob from Joyce. "Scared?" He nuanced, putting his arm around her shoulders. After all, he was there to help, not to accuse her of anything.

"Why? A baby is a good thing. I can say that he or she will have excellent brothers," The boy stated flatly, convinced of his words. "But I don't plan to change any diapers. This time it's up to Will." He tried to cheer her up.

Joyce laid her head on his shoulder. "Although you were very young, you know what followed with Will's arrival." Her voice cracked.

His head nodded, remembering unfortunate times from their past. Although it was different now. His father had been a bastard, but now his mother wasn't alone. She was going to have his support, whatever it took.

"Hopper isn't like Dad. I don't see the chief running out of this house."

Joyce straightened up again to look at her son. "You don't understand it." She spoke suddenly as her eyes turned watery. "Hopper has been through this too, and it went wrong," she stated, with a look full of regrets. "Now that everything was going well ..."

The boy swallowed hard. Now he understood why she was so reluctant to tell the news. The pain of losing little Sara could make Hop not want more children. It was a possibility, and his mother firmly believed in it.

"You cannot assume what he wants or not, and besides, it doesn't matter anymore. The baby is on the way. You're going to have to tell him anyway."

Joyce looked at her trembling hands. She knew that her son was right. In a way, she was proud of the adult he had become. Maybe even more than her at that time. "Promise me one thing, Jonathan."

"Sure."

"You won't tell anyone about this. Much less to the boys. Neither you nor Nancy."

* * *

"So Mike and I could live happily together, but not get married?" El pointed out with mockery.

Hop opened his mouth although no sound came from it. Over his dead body. He thought. "No! Of course not." He tried not to yell. He really tried, but she wasn't making it easy for him.

"Well, then I don't get it." She huffed, rising from his side in a huff. "I just want to be able to have a normal family."

"You already have it!" He snapped, beginning to feel annoyed by the subject.

"No, I don't have it. And you know it. And all Hawkins knows that too!" The girl yelled too, remembering the incident in the Arcade and the insult that Troy dedicated to them, which to be honest, she still had to look up in the dictionary.

Hopper rubbed his forehead with his hands. "Listen, El. It's more complicated than it seems. Joyce has already been married, with a bad guy, and doesn't have a very good memory of what the word marriage means. So I think we can go without that formality. We're fine like this. And I don't give a damn what the Hawkins townspeople say. And you shouldn't either."

She looked at him without saying anything for a moment. Hopper feared the worst, hoped he wouldn't have to repair any windows in the house, his to-do list was starting to get huge. Relief came when El simply stormed out of the room, growling under her breath.

"Shit," Hop said sulkily, as he looked back at the map on the table, and almost instantly his gaze was fixed on a specific point. "Oh. So it was here, huh?" He muttered excitedly as he pointed a marker at an area on the map. At that time anything was good to occupy his mind, including a murder case.

* * *

Joyce tried to retrace her steps and hide in her particular den again, but Jonathan was behind her and had cut off any escape route. "Mom, you have to do it."

"I know, I know, " She agreed. Just then, they both watched as El stormed out of the living room, waving her arms, visibly angry about something. "Better another time ..." She pleaded in a vain attempt to get away from that inevitable discussion.

"Now." The boy snapped.

Then Hopper went out into the hall, and they were both surprised to see each other there. "Oh, how are you feeling?" His voice was casual, while he quickly folded the map in his hands.

"Better," She replied, nodding and glancing back at Jonathan. "Ehm ... can we talk?"

Hopper was so distracted and engrossed in the discovery he had just made, that he was oblivious to the visual reprimands the Byers were throwing at each other. "Is it urgent?" Hop asked, going to the coat rack where his hat was waiting for him. He had already been through an unpleasant conversation with El, so he had no great interest in having another one with Joyce.

"No," She responded almost immediately, clearly relieved that she was about to postpone that cumbersome conversation. "Don't worry, we'll talk later."

"Great, because now I have to check one thing," Hopper explained vaguely as his hands took the car keys. "Don't wait for me for dinner. It will take a while."

Joyce smiled nervously as she watched him walk out the door.

"Seriously?!" Jonathan exclaimed in disbelief as he put his hands on his waist.

"What did you want me to do? It was clearly not a good time!" She asserted, in an attempt to excuse herself.

The boy grunted as he made a fuss similar to what El had done minutes before. Sometimes he believed that he was the only adult in the house.

"You didn't even ask him where he's going." He scolded her.

"He's an adult. And, come on, probably he just goes to fetch the kids at the arcade."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "If you hadn't been so focused on your problems, you would have remembered that the children are already here."

Joyce gazed worriedly at the closed door, thinking that her son was right.

**To be continued.**

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This was "The calm before the storm" I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what do you think... or expect! or want! :)


	34. Into the Wolf's den (Part I)

Hi all! How are you doing? I'm proud to announce that we're getting to the final part of this crazy story. I hope you like it!

Super special thanks to me beta-reader AnnieRavenClaw707 for her support and help! :)

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**Chapter 34: Into the Wolf's den (Part I)**

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The road was frost, and the fog that was starting to appear suggested it would be a cold night. It was not surprising. After all, it was December. Hopper kept driving a couple more miles, heading toward the highway. He had already passed the gas station where Johnny supposedly last saw Mrs. Hammond alive a long time ago, although it was a detail that soon disappeared from his head. Too busy giving importance to the last conversation with El.

The girl had never worried about such things, with her little knowledge of the world she had not given importance to long-term plans, and of course, marriage was one of them. It was clear that this was a plot created by the boys. It would not have occurred to her so suddenly, and of course, in such a hurry. But why? He just wanted to be comfortable with Joyce. Nothing else mattered to him. Not anymore.

He scratched his chin thoughtfully while smiling, self-absorbed. Who would have said that he could finally get to live with Joyce? For a moment, he felt like a schoolboy again, like that lad who once daydreamed of the funniest girl in high school, before Vietnam, before Lonnie Byers, in short, before everything went to hell.

Hopper looked out the side of the car sideways. It should be near, next to the road stood a majestic grove of ash trees, just the same that he had pointed with a marker on the map that silently accompanied him in the passenger seat.

* * *

Joyce hung up the phone too roughly as she quickly rubbed her nose nervously.

"Well?" Jonathan asked after her, accompanied by the other kids who remained in the house, Will, Mike, Nancy, and El, who looked at her expectantly.

"Nothing." The woman announced in a mix between angry and anguished. "Powell hasn't heard from Hopper, nor has he spoken to him since yesterday," She replied with resignation. "The damn lone ranger he'd called him."

Mike turned to El, trying to comfort her. "It's only been four hours. We might be worrying for no reason and that he's fine, maybe even about to arrive."

Jonathan dismissed the boy to approach the girl. "What exactly did Hop discover?"

"I don't know. We were talking about other stuff as you know," El told, with contained sarcasm. "He was looking at a map. Something to do with some trees. I have no idea." She explained, annoyed with herself. She had always been very observant, but just when she needed to be, she hadn't paid enough attention.

"Think, honey," Joyce urged the girl, still knowing that she shouldn't press her. It was cruel, but the feeling of a Deja Vu was there. Hopper finding out something he didn't share with anyone else, right into the wolf's den. She had already been through the same situation.

The image of him trapped between the vines of the mind flayer was still etched in her retinas. If they had arrived just a minute later, Hop would not have made it out of those tunnels alive.

Will, who until then had been silent, watching everyone start to go crazy, raised his voice. "Maybe we can find him another way." He announced, staring at El.

* * *

Hopper squatted by the roadside. He had finally located the exact point of the accident. There were fresh tire lines over the asphalt, marking the spot, like an x in a treasure map. After checking the condition of Hammond's car, he deduced that a wheel had a blowout. It was evident after verifying that all had stains of mud except one, which had been recently replaced. It was too clean, just a few miles of use, perhaps from the crime scene.

The beam of his flashlight illuminated the path to the side of the road. He wished to find some trace that the killer had left. Luckily for Hopper, the night of the accident rained a lot.

You cannot leave a place of mud and dirt clear. Perhaps the murderer would trust himself and leave some evidence, thinking that the water would erase everything.

After carefully circling the alleged place where the victim's car had supposedly been, he returned to the starting point. There was nothing. How the hell can you cover up a trace of something that at least weighs a ton? Damn, the bastard must be pretty good. He thought.

"Ok. Plan B." He murmured to himself. "If I were Hammond and just had a flat tire, what would I do?" He looked back. "No, the gas station is too far to walk from here, and there's nothing else on the way back." He turned forward. "Maybe she would try her luck ahead." Hopper sighed as he lit a path that was beginning to cover itself with a mist that was getting thicker.

"Great." He cursed, heading for the fog.

* * *

Jonathan gently grasped Joyce's arm to comfort her. She took his hand, thanking him for the gesture, although she was still just as concerned. The ceiling lamp had been blinking steadily for the last five minutes until it ultimately burned out, leaving them in the dark. Their silhouettes were barely distinguishable in the vague light of the static noise of the television.

"What happened?" Joyce asked nervously.

El removed the blindfold as she scrubbed the blood that had begun to run down her nose. "I can't find him," She murmured, uncomfortable.

"How is that?" Mike asked, surprised as well as confused. "I thought you had regained your powers."

El glanced at him, embarrassed, with bright eyes full of helplessness. This could not be happening to her. Not again. She ran towards the bathroom.

"El! Wait!" Mike exclaimed.

* * *

Hopper lost track of time, without knowing how long he had been walking. He just hoped it was going in the right direction. At least it was the one he would have taken if he had to go for help. Of course, his sense of direction was sometimes not the best. When he thought he had been foolish enough to walk instead of taking the car, the fog seemed to thicken.

His sight tried to sharpen. In the beam of the flashlight, he could see in the distance what looked like an old building. Yes, it was an old factory. He remembered that it was already in ruins when he was little.

Hopper did not even recall what the factory was. It was practically in the middle of nowhere. Then he remembered that the night of the event, it was raining. Perhaps Miss Hammond would seek refuge in that old building.

* * *

The water was leaking quickly down the drain of the sink, along with the last drops of blood from El's nose. She still hadn't dared look up and gaze at herself in the mirror in front of her.

"Are you ok?" Mike asked, tapping on the half-open door.

"Yes." The girl lied, splashing water on her face to try to hide the tears that were beginning to fall through it.

The girl felt useless. She believed that her powers had come back, but it wasn't real. She had gone back to the beginning, trying to find Hopper's whereabouts with the Russians and failing miserably.

"Why can't I find Hop?" She spoke, turning to look at him. Mike was attempting to find some sort of talk that could cheer her up or even a plausible answer to her problem, but words didn't leave his mouth. Instead, his hand took hers. "We are going to find him, ok? If not with your powers, we'll find out where he could have gone."

The girl looked at him with some reluctance, but he squeezed her hand and smiled. "Come on, let's go back to the others."

* * *

The darkness overwhelmed Hopper. The silence was broken by the wind that filtered through the broken windows of the building. The sound it produced was quite sinister, moving some rusty iron chains still hanging from the ceiling. Of course, this place had seen better times, although probably more than half a century ago.

It took him a short time to inspect much of the building, and for a moment, he thought his search was in vain. Suddenly, the sole of his shoes almost stuck to the ground. Quickly, his flashlight shone on his feet, and he saw a parched puddle on the floor.

The first thing he thought was that it was some oil or something similar. After all, that place had been an old factory. But it would be odd if it were still so sticky after more than half a century. He squatted down to inspect it better and then realized it wasn't oil.

"Blood." He mumbled under his breath. It was dried, but of course, it hadn't been there for fifty years. It was more recent. With the help of the flashlight, he examined the dimensions. It was a particularly huge puddle.

That fit perfectly with a shot to the head. He smirked, realizing that his theory was correct. This was the actual crime scene. Now he must find out why someone would want to kill that woman.

It was increasingly clear to Hopper that it had all been an unfortunate coincidence. If the wheel of her car hadn't broken down, Mrs. Hammond would never have gone to that damn place.

The old iron chains screeched, knocking him out of his thoughts. He presumed he was alone, but maybe he wasn't. His fingers quickly switched off the flashlight, remaining in complete darkness, only illuminated by the dim moonlight that filtered through the broken windows of the room.

With extreme slowness but security, he took out his pistol and studied carefully, at least what his eyes allowed, the rest of the room. His brow furrowed at the sight of a pair of metal boxes in the background. They were familiar to him even though he couldn't remember why. What he did know for sure was that they did not belong to the building. Their metallic surface seemed more modern. In the dim light, his eyes noticed there were marks on the floor. There were only two boxes left, but clearly, there had been more.

Hopper waited a reasonable time, hoping to hear some new noise again, but nothing happened. Maybe it was the wind or a fucking rat. He thought. The curiosity to know what those boxes were hiding was huge. It had to be considerably important. Enough to kill for it.

He slowly approached them and opened one of the locks.

"It can't be," Hopper whispered, stunned. A sharp blow shook his head, sending his knees to the ground, and the gun out of reach. His pants soaked as the floor was impregnated with some sort of liquid.

"Shit." It took a moment for the brief concussion to leave his head, but his survival instinct made him launch himself to retrieve the weapon. He stretched out as far as his arms would allow catching the gun, and then he felt something hard and cold curl around his neck. It was one of the rusty iron chains. His fingers almost brushed the butt of the revolver as the chain pushed him back mercilessly, taking away any hope of reaching the gun.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as it felt his attacker's rapid breathing behind him. Precisely what he lacked, being able to breathe. With both hands, Hopper attempted to grab the links of the chain, struggling to ease the pressure on his throat.

For a brief moment, he managed to fill his lungs with air again, enough to pick up momentum and head-butt back, surprising his attacker.

He heard a shocked grunt, but the movement made the chain tighten even more against his windpipe, and his attacker pulled more viciously.

Hopper tried to hit him again, but the choking feeling was taking its toll. His eyes clouded, and his fingers slipped from the chain, dropping his arms limp.

On the verge of falling into unconsciousness, or worse, the pressure of the chain ceased, and his attacker pushed his unresponsive body with disdain. Hopper groaned, weakly, as his already sore head landed hard on the ground. His eyes barely made out anything, but his sense of smell, trying to catch some fresh air, caught an intense stink of gasoline.

His brain, during his last moment of lucidity, informed him of what was going to happen. That son of a bitch wanted to cover up the crime scene even more by setting it on fire.

"Fuck." He mumbled, unable to move, as he heard the lid of a zippo lighter open. "He's going to do it with me inside." That was his last thought, just before the darkness claimed him.

**To be continued**

Ok. We're getting into the final part of the story. I'll be glad to read your thoughts. :)


	35. Into the wolf's den (Part II)

**Hi all! Sorry for the delay in updating it. Life happens... and I'm having a bad spell. But hey, the new chapter is here.**

**As always, I want to thank my beta reader RavenClaw707 for her patience and time!**

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**Chapter 35: Into the wolf's den (Part II)**

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Nancy and Mike were busy looking for any sort of annotation in the books that Hopper had brought from the library. There were volumes everywhere, carelessly piled on the living room table.

"Wow, did you know that trees need approximately two thousand liters of water each year?" Mike stated, flipping through a book with a cover of a willow tree.

Nancy rolled her eyes. "For heaven's sake, Mike. Stop being a kid. We're looking for annotations, don't waste our time." Her sister reproached as she swapped her book, stacking the revised ones in a corner. "What exactly did Hopper say?" Nancy asked, turning to El, who was watching them from the sofa.

"He said there were leaves or something like that in Miss Hammond's car, and that he had to find where those trees were to find out where she went the day before her death. He didn't say anything else." El replied dejectedly.

"Ok, so we have to find a forest with some specific tree. There can't be many, right?" Joyce asked, hopefully.

"According to the record in this book, there are about fifty different varieties in Hawkins," Nancy stated.

"Fifty? How can there be so many trees!" Joyce exclaimed in anguish. She was beginning to think it was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

El felt great sorrow as everyone was trying to help reading a book. After all, it was her adoptive father and she couldn't help. On the one hand, she still did not know how to read fluently, so she felt like a hindrance, and on the other, her powers were useless, again. The girl looked away, about to collapse, and it was then when she noticed that Will was in the hallway, motioning silently to follow him.

* * *

He heard a rattle very far away, a constant noise, like an engine. Oh, God, he felt so exhausted that he tried to return to the fantastic world of unconsciousness, where at least the pain gave him some respite.

He tried to find a comfortable posture, but his body was fatigued without much desire to move, so he finally opened his eyes to find that it was still night. Asphalt sped past beneath him. It was then that he realized he was in a car.

His head ached as if he had drained a whole bar the night before. But he hadn't drunk, had he? Then he felt thirsty, his mouth dry as a rag. As a reflex action, he swallowed his saliva and instantly regretted it. Fluid ran down his throat like a fire burning inside him. The sting made him wake up even more. "What?" He tried to ask, but his voice was hoarse as gravel. It was tough for him to speak, and the mere fact of breathing caused agony in his throat.

"Easy pal. It's ok. We are heading to the hospital. Just in case," A male voice spoke, beside him.

"Hospital?" Hopper mumbled, still trying to focus his eyes.

"Hey. Do you remember what happened?" The voice asked, starting to get nervous.

Hopper blinked several times to focus on the man. Shit. He thought as he saw Chief Hartman driving. Suddenly his brain started working again. All the memories of what happened crowded into his mind, pulling him out of his stupor like a spring.

He remembered walking down the road, reaching the factory, uncovering the boxes, and of course, dammit, the intense beating that the murderer gave him. He thought he was going to die. No. He was sure he was going to die! That son of a bitch was going to burn him alive! And suddenly, he woke up and was with Hartman? It had no logic. None at all. Then he remembered what was in the boxes and reacted without thinking. It should be called pure survival instinct.

Hartman was staring at the road, and Hopper looked groggy, but he wasn't. He quickly grabbed the pistol from the police holster and pointed it at him.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Hartman yelled in shock, glancing from the road to the gun barrel.

"You're going to have to explain several things to me," Hopper replied. "And I don't know if I have the patience to listen to a long explanation right now." He added.

"Hey, you're threatening an agent of the law. And the excuse that you were still crazy won't be worth it." Hartman warned, sternly.

Hopper cocked the revolver in response. "I don't care."

The determination in his eyes was evident, so the policeman lowered his tone. It was not the time for provocations. "Fuck. Are you aware that if you shoot, we are going to have a car accident?"

"Then stop the car," Hopper ordered him, causing Hartman to stare at him tensely.

"You can't be serious…"

"Stop the fucking car!" Hopper tried to yell, but his throat was so sore, that it sounded like a poor hoarse attempt.

The other man had no choice but to slow down until the car stopped by the wayside. Hartman clenched his jaw as a deep breath filled his lungs, before facing Hop.

"As soon as I found out that you had been the previous chief, I investigated you." He admitted. "I found out that you were also a homicide inspector, so when I saw you hanging around Hammond's old house, it was clear you weren't there by chance. I decided not to take my eye off you."

The only response he had was silence. So Hartman remained agitated. "Tell me. What did you see at the factory?" The chief tried to make the other man talk.

Hopper narrowed his eyes. Why did he ask that? Would he have regretted having to cover up to two murders? Possibly, Hartman needed to know if he had seen too much, or if he doesn't mean a threat.

"I have the gun, I ask," Hopper replied dryly, adjusting the gun in his hand. "Why did you kill Mrs. Hammond?" The accusatory tone was evident.

Hartman blinked, and for a few seconds without reacting, his face changed completely. "What?!" He spoke between anger and a wry smile, still not believing it. "Don't you even accuse me of something like that!" He asserted sharply.

"You threatened me the last time I spoke to you. You wanted me to stop investigating! Now I meet the murderer, who incidentally prepares a certain death for me, and suddenly I wake up, and I meet you, asking me what I saw in the bloody warehouse! What the fuck do you want me to think?" Hopper snapped at him.

"I told you not to investigate because I was right!" Hartman cursed, ignited by the argument, and forgetting for a moment that he was at the opposite end of the revolver. "You put a bullseye on your chest for the killer. For heaven's sake, you would have died if I had not followed you there! And this is how you thank me for saving your fucking ass?!" Hartman shocked his head in disbelief. "I could have caught the killer. I even saw him escape from the factory. But it was either that or let you burn."

Hopper seemed to think about the explanation. Or Hartman was such a good actor as a criminal, or he was telling the truth. "Convince me." He replied seriously.

Hartman snorted wryly, but it was then that he realized he had inadvertently gotten so close that the barrel of the gun was resting right on his chest. On the other hand, he did not believe that a man who had almost died would go bluffing. "Ok." He exhaled in surrender. "I followed you, ok? You left your house at eight and then went through the petrol station at the county road forty-seven. You stopped by the forest of ash trees and walked to the factory." He continued, annoyed. "Is it enough to prove that I was after you, so I couldn't already be inside?"

Hartman observed the doubt in the other man's eyes. "Besides, what kind of murderer sets a perfect scene to get rid of all the evidence, including a witness, and then saves his life?" He added. "Either you shoot me, or you give me back the gun. You can't hold indefinitely an officer of the law."

Hopper took a deep breath and, though he hesitated for a brief moment, he finally decocked the revolver. The policeman, relieved, extended his hand. "Give it back to me, and I'll forget that this stupidity has happened."

The other man nodded and after the exchange, they looked straight ahead. It was dawn.

"Did you get to see his face?" Hopper questioned.

Hartman groaned wearily. "No." His hands turned the wheel as he pressed the gas pedal to resume their way. "I'm afraid by the time I got there, the whole place had already turned into fucking hell. Nothing was left. If he wanted to cover up something, other than your corpse, he did pretty well."

The adrenaline rush from the Hartman discussion was thinning in his veins. Instinctively, Hopper caressed his neck. Every breath of air was agonizing and felt like stabbing. His fingers touched the part that stung the most and then he thought that it must probably look awful. What he would say at home? God, He would give anything for aspirin and a sofa.

The policeman picked up the car radio. "Here Hartman, is there someone at the police station?"

"Powell speaking."

Hartman rolled his eyes. "Hey. Is there someone near the forty-three road?"

"Let me check shifts, uhuh, yeah. Smith and Standford must be in that area."

"They must retrieve a green car there, around mile sixty-eight, and take it to the station, ok?" Hartman faltered before continuing. "And a fire must be declared in the old factory."

The radio returned static noise. "Powell, I know it's five in the morning, but your job is to be awake on the other side." Hartman snapped sarcastically.

"Sorry, chief, the thing is that Hopper's car is green. And according to his family, he has been missing since yesterday. They even called to the station," The radio went static again for a few seconds. "Is everything alright?" Powell dared to ask.

Hartman glanced at his copilot. "I'm on it. Just call the patrol, and bring back the car, ok?" He replied, hanging up the radio.

Hopper rubbed his face. Yes, he would have survived a murderer, but it was useless. Joyce was going to kill him anyway. If "his family"... still a bit shocked by the word... had called the station, she must be worried like a toad under a harrow.

It was a roller-coaster of feelings. On the one hand, he hated having to give explanations, on the other, he liked to know that someone was waiting for him at home. He recognized that since El entered his life, he used to be more careful with his health and behavior.

"I have to go home." He announced abruptly.

"No way." Hartman didn't even look at him. His authoritative facade was back. "You come with me to the station."

Hopper gazed at him in shock. "Am I arrested? Again?"

"I'm sorry, but you are a witness who has to testify about a murder case."

"Oh, come on. Stop being so stuffy." Hopper protested, trying to earn some empathy from the man of stone. Damn, he needed to rest and Hartman must know it. Although to be fair, it could be his revenge for having threatened him at gunpoint. Fair enough. "I can summarize on the way home, without the need for any pointless paperwork."

This time the policeman turned to stare at him, and Hop could see the shadow of a hollow smile. Was it funny?

"I do things right, Hopper."

How he dared! Hop thought. "Well, excuse me, but I've found out more in a couple of days than you have in a month!" He reproached him immediately.

"Are we going to discuss it now?" Hartman replied, looking back to the road. "Besides, it is not to me that you have to make the statement. I have too much work already. Do you know that the previous chief had an accumulation of undone paperwork? Since 1979. Did you ever any report at all?"

Hopper glance at the window with an innocent smile.

"Agent Winston is the one handling the case. He was also a homicide inspector in Indianapolis," The policeman informed. "You may even get along well," He chuckled with irony.

Winston. The name ring a bell. It was then that Hop recalled the conversation with Powell at the bar about the inseparable Bert and Ernie. He scratched his chin, curiosity overwhelming him. If those two were friends ... "You were also an inspector? In Indianapolis?"

"Police captain." Hartman corrected him dryly, although there was a hint of certain nostalgia and sadness.

Hopper raised an eyebrow, not expecting it. Now the curiosity increased, as he was beginning to understand why Hartman was so stiff and liked to keep the paperwork up to date. "And what happened to demote you at Hawkins?" He asked, perhaps too bluntly. It was evident that a captain of the police does not just end up in a town.

Hartman stepped on the gas pedal even further. Sadly, there were too many miles left. "You owe me your life, Hopper. Don't be ungrateful."

**To be continued.**


	36. The way down (Part I)

**Hi all! Sorry for the delay in updating this. I have too much work lately :( Anyway, thank you for your follows! And, of course, special thanks to my beta reader AnnieRavenClaw707 for her support! ;) We're in the final part of the story, I hope you enjoy it. Just let me know! :)**

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**Chapter 36: The way down (Part I)**

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El watched indecisively at Will. "We should go back to the others. Maybe they've found something in the books." She advised her friend.

Will shook his head. "If they had, we would have already found out. Come on, try one more time." He replied, pointing to the empty coke can on the floor.

The girl snorted, tired, and overwhelmed. They had been like this for a long time. Will was confident that her powers were still there, but that she couldn't use them because of something he called a psychological problem. Of course, El didn't have any idea what it means. Something complicated about feelings, he told.

"Do you really think I don't want to find Hop?" She scolded him almost to the point of falling apart.

"I haven't said that. Of course not!" Will answered, somewhat confused for not knowing how to explain it. "What I mean is, I think you have a lock here," he stated, pointing to his temple. "And for that, we have to check that you still have your powers. I'm just asking you to try with the can."

The girl rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her jersey. "It's my fault. Again. The same thing happened with the bad Russian men. I couldn't help until it was too late." She replied heartbrokenly. "I can't lose him again. It was horrible."

"I know, and I think that's why you can't find him. But you still have your powers. I know,"

"Enough! I don't have them! Do you think that if I do, I wouldn't do anything to find him ?!" El exclaimed, going from sadness to anger.

Will shook his head. "I'm just asking you to..."

"I can't! Can't you see it?! Do you think I'm making this up?!"

The boy watched as the coke moved just a millimeter, almost imperceptibly. "Yeah." He snapped her provocatively. "I think so."

She got up angry. "I did not invent anything! I just can't!" She screamed as the can squeeze itself into a jumble of aluminum.

* * *

Hopper fiddled with the pens on his table. It was strange. He did not remember that his office was so large, although perhaps that it was collected and tidy had something to do with it. In a way, he longed for that place. It was the only thought on his mind as he heard Hartman speak on the phone in the background.

"I need you at the station. Now! No. I don't give a damn that it's your day off. A witness to the murder is waiting here, surprised? That case is yours, remember? Well, there is more, so move your ass, and come here right away!" Hartman yelled, angry, hanging up the phone. "Fuck, Winston. It seems that the laziness of the Hawkins policeman is infecting him," He pointed out, frustrated, rubbing his forehead before confronting Hopper.

"Start from the beginning." He continued, giving him a scrutinizing look.

Suddenly Hopper felt uncomfortable, if looks could kill, he would be dry by now, but it was clear that hatred was mutual. "Shouldn't we wait for that guy, Winston? You said it was whoever was handling the case."

Hartman picked up a pen with composure. "I'm a person who doesn't like to waste time. So I'm afraid we'll have to bear with us a little longer." He replied with mock regret as a notebook felt into the desk. "I'll update him."

Hopper snorted like a child. Indeed, the fatigue was beginning to be more marked. All he wanted at that moment was to isolate himself from the world and sleep until the next day. He decided it was best to give in and tell Hartman everything, figuring the sooner it was over, the sooner he could leave.

* * *

Will was excited. He felt like Professor x instructing the mutants. Well, more or less.

"Ok. Let's try something else. A much more easy task." He told, helping El to blindfold herself while hearing to the static noise of a radio. "Try looking for someone different than Hopper. Let's start with someone you don't know well. I don't know. For example, Mr. Clark."

"Why? Is he a suspect on the list?" She nuanced without understanding what that could do. If they were going to look for all the suspects on the list, they would need a whole day.

"Mr. Clark? No, no. But it's a test. maybe, it will be easier for you to search for strangers."

* * *

"Then was when that son of a bitch surprised me from behind, and I think you know the rest," Hopper concluded, after a good while testifying his version.

Hartman dropped the pen on the table, leaning back on the chair. He seemed just as tired as he was. No wonder. He hadn't slept at all, either.

"I haven't finished," Hopper warned him.

"I know. But all this is giving me a lot to think about." He replied in a mood that the other man could not understand. It seemed that somehow he knew something that was hiding him.

Hopper chuckled as he rummaged in his jacket for a pack of cigarettes. "Do you mind?"

"You shouldn't smoke," Hartman replied, amazed by Hop's lack of care. "Your throat will thank you for not making efforts."

God, it's like having two Flo's at the station. No wonder Powell was going crazy. Hopper thought. "Are you always so rigid for everything? Do you never break the rules?" Hopper grinned sarcastically as his fingers deftly picked up a lighter.

"Well, I could ask the same about you." Hartman leveled a hard stare at him. "How someone who skips them all the time could become a police chief. All your clues belong to the official report. How did you get it? Because if I remember correctly, it's in this same office. Locked."

Hopper lit the lighter with disdain. "I read it in a newspaper. Journalists, you know. They like carrion."

The policeman crossed his arms, unconvinced. "How stupid do you think I am?" He snorted. "Obviously, you have had help from inside. Only two of your old team remain, Flo and Powell. How long do you think it will take me to find out who it was?"

The lighter flame extinguished without even approaching the cigar. "If you have to blame someone, blame me."

Hartman's fist hit the table. "It's what I'm doing!" He quickly tried to regain composure by resting his elbows on the wooden surface. "Look, if it wasn't because you almost died implicating yourself, I would think it was a plot to screw me."

Hopper exhaled wearily. "Do you think I want to get my job back? Came on, man, I just want to live quietly with my family, and a killer on the loose doesn't help. Not after what I saw in the boxes."

The other man rested the head on his fist and grabbed again the pen.

Hopper gave him a stern look. "Weapons. An entire arsenal."

This seemed to attract the attention of the new chief, who settled back into the chair with interest. "The killer is an arms dealer?"

"It's a possibility." Hopper conceded with worry. "There were only two boxes left when I got there, but there was a hint that there were more. Maybe, he was relocating the shipment."

Hartman agreed. "So, poor Mrs. Hammond died from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Too bad. After that, the killer discovered you were investigating. So he decided to change his site load and erase the original crime scene, burning it to leave no trace. Makes sense." He admitted, uneasily. "It's also explained why he tried to kill you. It's like hitting two birds with the same stone. All of his problems solved on the same night. Holy shit."

"Yeah." Hopper regretted, realizing how close he had been. "I couldn't see them well. But they were assault rifles. Military type. I don't know the exact model but very similar to ours."

"It can't be ..." Hartman murmured in disbelief.

"That's what I said before the bastard broke my head open."

They both glanced at each other with concern. It didn't look good and it was getting worse.

Two knocks on the door brought them out of their thoughts. Immediately a policeman entered to leave the keys of a car on the table.

"May I go now?" Hopper asked when he saw with relief that they were his.

"Go? No. You're safer here, at the station." Hartman affirmed, with a cold glance.

Hopper stood up firmly. "No way I stay here. I'm tired, need some rest, and the first thing I want to do is see my family again. So, you'll have to arrest me to stop me." The defy was evident.

The policeman smirked. "I can do that, and you know it. Besides, I won't forget that you stole an official report."

Hopper brushed his forehead, exhausted to his bones, considering that it was a lost battle from the beginning. "I'm aware of the danger, but I want to see my daughter again. Is a little empathy too much for you?"

Hartman exhaled concerned although his head finally nodded. "Stay close. In case I need to ask you more questions. I'm sure we will speak again, soon." He stood up, accompanying him to the office door and grabbing Hop's arm. "And try not to poke your head too much." He muttered, "If he finds out you didn't die, he'll come after you."

* * *

Flo tried to speed up her pace to get to the station earlier. She didn't want to have a bad day at work, and that required her boss not to get mad early on. Her wishes cut short when she saw Hopper walking out the door, in a terrible urge to light a cigarette. Damn habit. Her former boss seemed distressed and engrossed. Would they have arrested him anew?

"Wow. I hope you haven't gotten into trouble again. You look horrible." She spoke with the usual sneer, beginning to inspect him like a mother when her son comes from a party at night.

Hopper smiled, appreciating a bit of humor that day. "Unlike you, Flo, today you do come pretty to the station." He replied, glad to see a familiar face, and that it could get him out of a lousy doubt that was eating away at his head.

"Seriously?" Her hands rested on her hips. "What do you want now?"

"Am I really that obvious?" He nearly rolled his eyes but didn't. "Flo, you are the most important person in this place. You know everything about everyone."

"I already know that same old story. Hurry Hop. The new chief likes punctuality." The sarcasm was undeniable.

"Well, talk of the devil. I need to know what happened to demote Hartman." He questioned bluntly, ignoring her banter.

She made a disapproving gesture but grabbed his arm, pushing him into the parking lot. That was her Flo, grumbling but without losing the opportunity to gossip.

"Apparently, Rose, from Indianapolis told me," She murmured, looking both ways to make sure no one was listening. "It was a very nasty matter. Even The internal affairs section had to intervene."

"No." He replied, exaggerating astonishment. Hartman was a police captain, a fucking lover of well-done paperwork, order, and law. And he didn't seem like a fool either. It was clear that it had to be because of a tremendous muddle.

"Look, apparently, for a time, part of the seizures from anti-drug operations began to disappear. The culprit was never found or known how they did it, but obviously, they needed to blame someone, and Hartman was in charge, so he took the rap." Hopper urged her to continue. Flo knew how to create expectations. "Some even thought that it had been him. In the end, they demoted him, and as it happened just with your, uh, vacant position, they punished him to come here." She summarized. "I honestly think, we're picking up the pieces."

Hopper nodded just as a patrol car parked near them. He recognized its driver because he was the same man who had accompanied Hartman days before at the bar. Oh yeah, and because it was the cop he hit as soon as he got to Hawkins. That was Winston. Poor man. Hopper thought, greeting him from afar. He was about to put up with a big fight from his boss and on his day off. He felt sorry for him instantly. The policeman looked at him strangely.

"Flo, I have to go. If I wait a little longer, I will have to testify again to Winston, and I don't feel like it."

She nodded with contempt. "I don't know what you're up to, but be careful."

* * *

Hartman brooded on the conversation with Hopper. "Damn town." He muttered, worn out. After all, he had been awake all night.

Suddenly, he threw the notebook on the table and rose from the chair like a mastiff on the hunt. "Fuck. Fuck!" He yelled leaving his office in a hurry to meet Powell in the main room, who was putting on his jacket to leave. Hartman glanced at his watch. "Where are you going?" He told off. "You still have 10 minutes left on your shift."

The police looked at him with annoyance. "I've already finished all the paperwork."

"Well, then make coffee before you go. I'm going to need it."

"Are you not leaving?" He asked scornfully but received no answer. His boss had already disappeared in the direction of the armory.

Powell turned to Flo in surprise, and she shrugged. "Don't look at me. All I know is that Hop has been here." She pointed out with a sigh. The day was not going to be a pleasant one. That was for sure.

* * *

Hopper drove engrossed at the wheel of the car. He was beginning to regret buying the house so far from the town center. Well, on second thought, no distance would be enough to separate his daughter from the Wheelers, perhaps a whole country.

He did not know how far he had to go, but what he felt more and more was the exhaustion draining him. His foot hit the gas pedal hard, wanting to get home as soon as possible. He wanted to see El and Joyce, even if it meant a fight for not having been home that night.

Just then, the siren of a patrol car made him look in the rearview mirror. Fuck. He thought in annoyance. If it was Harman, he was going to send him to hell and if it was another cop to fine him for speeding, too.

Hopper finally exhale and stopped the car by the road. As he rolled down the window, the cold December air woke him up a bit.

A policeman appeared behind the transparent surface. Thank goodness it wasn't Hartman. But It was Winston. Damn, had he followed him to testify anyway? For Heaven's sake, he didn't feel like wasting time. God. If he had had El's dictionary handy, he would have taught the man the meaning of the word rest!

"Is there a problem, officer?" Hopper asked, smiling, trying to do his best to be nice and get out of there fast.

"Get out of the car." Winston snapped at him without further ado.

"What? Why?!"

In less than a second, Hop found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Get down. Now."

**To be continued**

Surprised? No? Just let me know with a comment or review. I would be glad to read it! :)


	37. The way down (Part II)

**Hi all! Here I'm with another chapter for this story. As always, special thanks to my beta reader AnnieRavenClaw707 for her incredible support! :) **

**.**

**Chapter 37: The way down (Part II)**

.

Joyce lifted a great weight off her by hanging up the phone. She couldn't believe that, in a matter of hours, life could take so many turns. It was Powell. The officer decided to inform her that Hopper had passed through the station, that he was fine, and he was on his way home. Maybe, it had all been a scare, and they just had overreacted.

She rubbed her face, relieved, but also frustrated. It was very evident that as soon as Hopper walked through the door, she was going to yell at him angrily because that was the only thing he deserved! Because he deserved it, right? Maybe he had gotten annoyed with her for how she had treated him the day before? The last conversation between them had been weird, and it was entirely her fault. She had been very distant with him since she knew there was a baby on the way.

She exhaled, and for a moment, felt stupid. What if something had happened? The last thing they had done was to have a ridiculous quarrel. She felt relieved that he was going out, and he seemed relieved to postpone the blissful conversation. Maybe Jonathan was right, and they were behaving like children. They couldn't go on like this.

No, it wasn't all her fault. He couldn't go playing the hero around and leave her alone. Not when they wanted to start a new life together. She compelled to tell him the news, as soon as possible, even though it might be displeasure for him, something she did not yet know.

"Hopper is fine. At least that's what Powell told me. He's supposed to come home now." Joyce announced to everyone's joy.

El and Will had been listening to that call from the continuous room. She removed the blindfold smiling, visibly relieved, and making a mental note in her head to know where Hopper was at all times. The yellow duck would strike back, chasing him wherever he went.

"Thank goodness. Because I couldn't find him," El pointed out, relieved. She couldn't believe it was all just a scare. They had been through so much that they always expect the worst.

Will caught her arm. "Yes, it's great. But maybe now is the best time to figure out if we were right. We can try again. Now you know that Hop is fine. If you find him, we will know that it's a psychological block."

She glared at him. "Will, I'm tired. Why don't we leave it for later?"

"Come on, it will only take a minute," Will almost begged, holding up the piece of cloth.

* * *

Hopper cursed all possible universes. It was like heaven had condemned him to not being able to live in peace. Happiness was something forbidden, and perhaps, it was too late to regret it. Hell. That's where they were heading.

He wanted to think that his worst omens in Goshen were only the result of his imagination and bad experience in the past, but no. Every time he began to mend his life, and he could feel good about himself again, a new misfortune came on the way.

This time, it was not a simple accident. It was not the fault of the Russians or even an evil entity from another dimension. It was his damn fault. For being an idiot, and not having seen it. How did he not notice it before?

The cold forest air didn't help Hopper at all, only to keep him awake because of the terrible pain that the frozen breeze was doing down his already battered throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked back. Winston was following him at a safe distance and, of course, still pointing the gun at him.

"Don't stop," The officer spat at him with arrogance.

The place was frozen, and yet they had already been walking for several miles through the forest. Hopper had a vague idea of where they were going, but he couldn't believe this was happening to him. A blind man would have seen it before! He cursed himself.

All the pieces of the puzzle had been on the table to have known who the murderer was, and yet he had not realized it until it was too late, and the murderer hunted him first.

He knew it had to be someone with inside information, enough to know how to circumvent the coroner's job. He was also someone who knew very well how to cover up a murder down to the smallest detail, someone who had seen many in his life. And of course, someone who could make the chief of police himself to look the wrong way. Who better than the officer who was in charge of investigating the case? And that he was also the chief right-hand man? Hopper must have known it the moment Flo told him the story of Hartman's demotion. It was the same old story again, but this time, instead of dealing drugs, he was selling the police arsenal. After all, it was hardly ever used in Hawkins. Hop knew those rifles were terribly familiar to him, and now everything clicked.

Hartman had always had a bad egg at the station, and it turns out it was his friend. Winston screwed him up in Indianapolis, and now he's doing it again in Hawkins.

It was ironic. Hartman's superiors in the capital had pointed their accusing finger at him, and Hopper had done the same, without knowing that the man was another victim. He would have felt sorry for him if it hadn't been for the fact that perhaps, because of his incompetence, he was about to die!

The forest began to clear as they were reaching the end. Fuck. A chill ran down his spine. They were in the upper part of the old quarry. He knew the area well. Years ago, they had searched there for Will when he disappeared.

"Keep going," Winston ordered, pointing to the edge of the ravine.

"For what? To make your task easier?" Hopper huffed, turning to face him. "I know what you want, and I am not going to make it easy. You didn't kill me in the warehouse because you wanted it to look like a random accident. If they found my body burned in a fire, without gunshot wounds, you could have blamed the old electrical installation for an unfortunate short circuit while I was investigating. Very convenient." He asserted sourly. "But down a cliff? Who are you going to fool with that?"

"You went out for a walk. The ground was frozen and you got too close to the edge. Accidents happen, you know?" The officer replied in a dark tone, approaching him threateningly.

"I'm not going to jump," Hopper told clenching his jaw. "You'll have to shoot me first, and then you can no longer cover it up as an accident."

Winston smirked. "I'm not going to make the same mistake twice. This time I'm going to make sure." The policeman deflected the gun from Hopper's head to his chest. "You choose how you die. But I'll tell you what, a shot in the stomach is a painfully slow and agonizing death. Better to jump. Clean and fast."

"Are you crazy?!" Hop replied in one last burst of courage. "You cannot cover up to two violent murders. Too much attention in a town so small. The state will intervene, you know? It took me two days to discover the crime. How long do you think it will take for them?" He spoke, trying to intimidate the other man.

"I think I'll take a chance," Winston responded wryly, as his finger adjusted on the trigger.

Hopper felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. That son of a bitch was going to shoot him in cold blood, without hesitation. He needed to think of something and damn fast.

"Hartman already knows." Hop lied bluntly, in a desperate act to extend his life. After all, it was obvious that Winston hadn't had time to talk with his boss yet. "Are you going to kill him too?"

The officer's silence made him understand that he was thinking about it.

"You're mad!" Hopper cried desperate, knowing that the man would never change his mind about killing him.

"No. He's just a bastard!" Spoke a voice behind them, annoyed.

Hopper was too tired, exhausted, and even a little scared to have reacted in time before Winston grabbed hold of him and used his body as a human shield against the new threat. He exhaled weakened, feeling the gun against his neck, then his eyes noticed Hartman approaching them with a revolver in hand, and with a look that would have frozen the blood of Clint Eastwood himself in 'For a few dollars more'. Why thinking of movies at that time? Too much pressure for his brain.

Hartman stepped forward. "Damn it, Winston. Did you have to be the corrupt one? Fuck, I considered you a good policeman! Even a friend!"

"Police's payroll doesn't pay debts, Hartman. It's not personal." Winston responded with haughtiness.

"What?! Until when were you going to continue like this? Do you think I was not going to find out that the arsenal was disappearing? Just like the seizures in Indianapolis," Hartman seemed to spit out the last words, disgusted by the harsh reality. "It was a matter of time before I discovered you! Or what were you planning to do?" The chief asked with some sarcasm, already knowing the answer.

Hopper gulped. Winston was caught and cornered. They had learned that he had no scruples when it came to covering up, so it was clear that the only possible way out Winston had at that time, was to kill them both. No doubt that he would do it if he had the chance. Probably, as soon as Hartman exposed any sort of vulnerability.

"I'm not good at chess, but this is checkmate. If you kill me, Hartman will shoot." Hopper dared to say, trying to make him give up.

"You shut up!" Winston roared sinking the barrel of the gun even further down Hop's neck, right where the chain chafed from the night before. Damn, it still stung.

"This is over. Drop the gun. Now!" The chief yelled, uneasy.

Winston chuckled. "I know you very well. You're not going to let a civilian die. Drop the gun, and we'll talk."

Hopper fixed his gaze on Hartman. "Don't even think about it. I'm not a civilian." He pointed out, observing the chief, who nervously adjusted the revolver in his hand. At that moment, Hopper grasped that one of the three was going to die, and he was right in the middle.

"If you have him within range... just shoot," Hopper spoke suddenly. Hartman might fail and kill him, but if he didn't try, he would still be a dead man. The thought instilled in him an excruciating fear that triggered his body with adrenaline.

Winston snorted after him. "Too many years without doing fieldwork. He's rusty!" He challenged, trying to make his boss nervous.

Through the chilly wind, Hopper began to hear screams from the forest. It was a woman calling out his name. Joyce. What the hell was she doing there? He was no longer solely afraid. He was terrified!

The commotion of the screams was enough to distract Hartman for just a second, long enough for Winston to point the gun at him. When Hopper was momentarily free, he did not hesitate and grabbed the murderer's wrist, trying to deflect the shot, but everything happened too fast.

The birds fled the place, frightened when they heard the detonation, and suddenly there was a sharp blow in front of them. Hopper watched helplessly as Hartman collapsed to the ground, shot down. Shit. Hopper though as he was struggling to disarm the cop, but the man was strong and he was too fatigued.

"Hopeeeeeer!" Joyce called, appearing from the trees, obviously scared after hearing the shot. Hopper struggled to deflect the path of the gun from him "Oh, my God!" She cried out, petrified, looking at the image in front of her. They both turned to look at her, she locked eyes with Hop for a brief second.

Winston pointed the gun at her as he had done at Hartman previously, and Hopper knew there was only one way to stop him. He pushed his whole body back, causing the policeman to lose his balance and just let gravity do the rest.

"NOOOO!" Joyce yelled desperately as she witnessed how both men fell down the ravine.

Hopper felt as the emptiness enveloped him, and his feet stopped supporting his weight. It was ironic, but during those moments, he felt a sense of Deja Vu. He had already lived that moment, only in dreams. The last time he confronted the shadow monster in the upside-down, he defeated it by tumbling. Was it a premonitory dream? Maybe so it was. He smiled gloomily as the top of that small gorge shrink in the distance.

An impossible pain invaded him when he realized that he was going to die without being able to say goodbye to his daughter and Joyce. He hoped that Winston was right and that grief and remorse would disappear fast with a quick and easy death.

The rocky shore of the old quarry was rapidly approaching him, or rather, him towards it. His eyes closed, waiting for the end. Then a powerful force gripped his body.

"It's over," He thought relieved, although he was still inexplicably conscious. His eyes opened, startled. He was floating a couple of meters above the ground, under him, was Winston's lifeless body.

"What the...?" He wondered in shock, feeling as an invisible force begin to push him up. His stomach turned from vertigo. If it hadn't been because his belly was empty, he was sure he would have vomited.

Slowly, he rose again to the edge of the ravine. As the distance grew closer, he could recognize Joyce and the boys, leaning over the edge. Soon, he surpassed them, and the force that held his body disappeared, making him fall gently to the ground.

Hopper realized that he had been holding his breath in panic, and began to draw air into his lungs. Just then, he looked up to find El in front of him.

"El," Sometimes he was afraid of what the girl was capable of, but at that moment, he could not help but feel relieved. She smiled weakly at him as her legs trembled with overexertion, falling to the ground. "El!" He screamed in awe, about to run towards her.

Her hand raised in a hurry. "I'm fine!" She declared stubbornly. "I'm fine." She repeated, knowing that the overprotective bear needed a double confirmation. Hopper watched as she wiped the drip of blood from her nose.

Blood. His eyes widened in realization. Damn. He thought getting up in a hurry, remembering that they weren't the only ones who suffered from it all. Too many open fronts.

He ran to Hartman, fearing the worst. His knees dug beside the policeman's body as his hands turned it over to inspect it. To his relief, the chief grunted in pain, still alive. Hopper sighed, relieved to have deflected the shot, at least a bit.

"Hey, hey. It's ok." His voice tried to sound reassuring as he inspected the bullet wound. It had hit him square in the shoulder, evading vital organs. However, the wound was quite spectacular. Hartman was bleeding fast. Hopper's gaze searched the agent's belt. Where the hell did the man keep the radio? He needed to call an ambulance. As soon as possible!

"This is going to hurt, ok? But it's necessary," Hopper told, resting his hands on the wound. He expected a cry of pain but didn't hear any. Hartman was starting to close his eyes.

"Hey, hey! Don't sleep, fuck!" Hopper asserted, panicked while shaking him a bit. "You have to stay conscious. Where the hell do you have the radio?"

"Not ... that stupid," Hartman mumbled. "Reinforcements… coming. Called them… on… the way here."

"Thank God." Hopper sighed, hoping it wasn't a blood loss delusion and wondering why they were taking so long to arrive.

Hartman grabbed his wrist. "If I die ..." He started to say.

"Don't even think about dying. Not on my damn watch!" Hop responded by pressing the wound even more. He was fully aware that if Hartman died, he was going to have two policemen killed and no witnesses to tell what had happened there.

"If I die ..." The chief insisted with urgent. "Tell the Indianapolis department what happened here." Hopper looked at him perplexed. "I don't want to die with dishonor. You don't have to understand it." Hartman declared, his voice just a whisper.

Of course, Hopper understood it. Flo had told him the story of why Hartman was demoted. They always thought that he was the corrupt one even though there was no evidence against him. Hopper swallowed hard, feeling bad for the man. "I'm not going to have to explain anything. Ok? You saved my life tonight, so don't be a jerk, and let me pay off the debt." He replied, trying to cheer him up.

The sound of sirens began to sound in the distance, and in just a few moments several patrol cars began to surround the place. "The reinforcements are here. You just have to hold on a little longer." Hopper said, smiling wistfully as he glanced back at Hartman, who was no longer listening. The man had finally been knocked unconscious.

* * *

The paramedics had already taken Hartman to the hospital several minutes ago, and yet Hopper was still sitting on the floor, with El in his arms. They had barely exchanged four words between them, but in their peculiar relationship, words were not necessary at all. They just needed to make sure that the other was still there.

El noticed Powell walking towards them, and she hugged Hopper tighter, snuggling against his chest. No one was taking him, not if she could prevent it.

"It's ok, kid." He mumbled, kissing her hair.

Powell approached them, scratching the back of his neck. When Flo predicted that it wasn't going to be a good day, he didn't expect any of this to happen.

"You know that you are going to have to give a lot of explanations, right?" The officer told him.

Hopper looked up and saw Joyce watching him from a distance, trying very hard not to let the tears fall. That was the sad summary of his life, for one reason or another, they always ended up apart.

"What did they say?" He asked, rubbing El's back.

Powell sighed tiredly. "You never know, but they have not given a bad prognosis. They believe he will live. We're waiting for the coroner, and the judge to... well, you know," He said, staring at the girl, somewhat uncomfortable and at the same time surprised. He knew that suddenly Hopper had a daughter, but seeing it with his own eyes... it was like watching a science fiction movie.

The other man nodded without further ado. "Now what?" He asked, knowing that his word could be of little use against a dead policeman and another dying one. The whole department probably blamed him and wanted to lynch him.

Powell looked away, uneasy at having to be the bearer of bad news. "Sorry, but you already know how the protocol is,"

Hopper sighed as he pulled away from El, giving her a reassuring look. "It's ok." He affirmed, smiling ruefully as she frowned to protest.

**To be continued.**

**I just want to say that the next one probably would be the final chapter of the story, but I have a lot of work lately to be done so, perhaps, it would take me longer to write it. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it at least as much as I writing it. ;) Let me know what do you think :)**


	38. Gift Exchange

**Hi all! I hope everyone is fine! I'm sorry this is taking so long to update but I have been very busy lately. :( Anyway, I hope you like it. Thanks, as always to my great beta-reader AnnieRavenClaw707!**

* * *

**Chapter 38: Gift exchange**

**Two weeks later.**

**7:30 A.M.**

Joyce looked at the clock on the bedside table. The red digits glowed through the dim light of dawn. She had watched all the numbers go by, one by one, all night. It couldn't wait any longer. In fact, it was a special day, December 24, Christmas Eve, a special day in itself. She had promised herself that today was the day.

The last few weeks had been a bit strange, but finally, the tranquility arrived. The coroner had ruled that Winston had powder remains on his fingers, so he fired a gun before he died. The bullet removed from Hartman matched the officer's service weapon. It was evidence in favor of Hopper, who was finally released, as soon as Hartman was able to testify from the hospital. Who would have told her that someone, as hated as Hartman, was going to be so necessary to them?

She closed her eyes decisively. Yes. Today was the day. It could end as a big party day or a day to end up at the bottom of a bottle of alcohol. Suddenly, the very idea that it could end poorly made her feel icy cold, and a fearful chill ran down her spine.

Instinctively, she snuggled her back against Hopper, who was still sleeping like a log next to her. The man stretched a little at the contact. In his lethargy, he wrapped his arm around her waist, unconsciously pulling her toward him. Joyce could felt his soft, even breathing against her neck.

"Hop?" She whispered, trying her luck, still knowing it was early and that he wasn't a morning person.

The man breathed out a heavy sigh, as his body awoke reluctantly. "Uhuh?" He mumbled, still sluggish.

"Are you awake?" She asked, stating the obvious.

"No. You'll have to try harder." He joked behind her. His beard brushing her delicate neck, as his lips blindly kissed her soft exposed skin, gently, feeling like the luckiest man, wishing he could wake up like this every day of his damn life. "Morning, honey."

Slowly, Joyce turned into his arms to look at him. She had been thinking all night about how to start, so she was grateful that his eyes remained closed. Yes. He hated getting up early.

"Today is a special day, and since the last few weeks have been hellish, I would like to have some time to ourselves. Because we have to talk."

His eyes cracked open at the cursed words, his expression tensing from sleepy to fully alert in the blink of an eye.

Her hand leaned over his cheek, caressing it, trying to calm him down. "Hop, we can discuss it at dinner tonight," She told, tentatively, testing the waters. "I think we deserve to go to Enzo's, for a damn good time,"

He exhaled a long breath after unconsciously holding it. She wasn't going to propose to go to a place like Enzo's if she wanted to end the relationship, right? Lately, Joyce was very strange and distant with him. It was inevitable to fear the worst.

"The children are not going to like Enzo's," He replied, still slow, thinking about El and her way of devouring hamburgers.

Joyce snorted. "You and I. Without children. I told you that when it was over if it ended well, we would go to Enzo's."

"Without children?! For the love of God, it's Christmas Eve. You're supposed to spend the night with…" He trailed off as she raised an eyebrow. "With the family." He concluded not very sure of his words.

"The children, as you insist on calling them, will be fine. Also, tomorrow is Christmas. We will have all the time to get bored with them and see how they avoid us so they can sneak away, and go show off gifts with their friends."

Hopper shook his head emphatically. "Exactly. Gifts will be opened ahead of time. We have to watch them!"

Her elbows dug into the bed as she sat up slightly to look at him. "Why don't you want to go to Enzo's?"

Damn. She read him like an open book. Hopper felt defeated on the pillow. What a question. He could make a multi-page list of why going to Enzo's was a bad idea. The perfect place to screw it all up and say something stupid. And why right now?

After all, they were past the dating phase. By God, they lived under the same roof. It was true that for unusual causes, but still... His fear of believing that he had done something wrong in these weeks forced him to please her. He didn't know why, but she was quite strange, and he was always the one who screwed up. But Enzo's? On Christmas Eve? And to talk? No wonder he had all the alerts on.

"The last time I was there," _When you stood me up_. He added in his mind. "I wasn't very polite to the waiter. I don't think it's a good idea to go back." He admitted. As the words came out of his mouth, he realized that it was an awful excuse. True. But awful.

Joyce couldn't help but laugh. "Came on. One night, for us, gift exchange, you know," Joyce insisted, with no hint of giving up.

After a too-long sigh, his hand dropped to her waist, massaging her belly with his thumb. "So I have a gift?" He asked with a smirk. "Any clue?"

She bit her lower lip as she glanced at the hand on her belly. _Wow, you're already touching it._ She thought nervously. "Enzo's. Tonight." She stated, in front of his scrutinizing gaze.

* * *

**9:45 a.m.**

Will yawned for the fourth time, louder and louder, as he prepared to gulp down his breakfast. Across from him were Hopper and El sitting at the table, each staring at one different place. The boy cleared his throat, trying to get the attention of those two. It was strange. Hopper and El were two bottomless stomachs that eat whatever fell on their plates first thing in the morning. And today, because it was Christmas Eve, there were triple Eggos. El hadn't even touched them.

"What's wrong?" Will asked, glancing at the girl.

"It's late, and Mike hasn't arrived yet. It takes longer and longer," Her annoyance was crystal clear. "We live very far. Almost more than the cabin." She lamented, taking an Eggo.

Will groaned in exasperation. How boring could those two get! Then he looked at Hop. It was weird that he hadn't commented on it, like how bad a friend Mike was for not getting up early to get there. Being away was no excuse. He had already said it once. The girl also noticed.

"I think we'll spend the whole day together," El started to say wryly, trying to drive Hopper crazy. It was a good way to start the day. "What do you think, Hop?"

"Of course. Yes. Great." The man spoke absorbed. "Erhm ... Will, where is your brother?" He continued in front of the stunned looks of the kids.

"I don't know. He hasn't left his room yet." Will hesitated, as the man hurried out of the kitchen. "I suppose he's sleeping?" The boy finished as he turned back to face El. "It's weird."

The girl looked at Hop's untouched plate. "Yes. Very weird."

* * *

"Jonathan!" A voice yelled from the hallway.

"Oh, my God!" Nancy mumbled as she jumped out of bed. "It's Hopper!"

The boy ran quickly, tucking her clothes under the bed. "Ok. Hide in the bathroom!"

"Can I come?" They heard Hopper behind the door.

"Wait!" Jonathan yelled as Nancy ran to the bathroom.

"Oh, come on. Don't be so modest. I'm not going to be scared by what I see," Told the man, opening the door and forgetting about the formalities. It was damn urgent!

The Byers boy was hastily finishing his belt when Hopper walked in like he was going to do a police raid.

"Jona…" The man's jaw dropped as he saw the mess of the room.

The boy stood without color in his face. Looking like a hare at the headlights of a car about to be run over. Hopper cleared his throat as he continued to scan the room.

"So?" The boy spoke, trying to compose his posture as attempting to show normality. "What is so urgent to forget that doors exist?"

Hopper narrowed his eyes. "I need it today." He replied bluntly. "I've already thought about it. And today _is_ the day."

Jonathan went from the nervousness of being caught red-handed to surprise. "What?!" He asserted, thinking that the man had hit his head or something. "Yesterday, you didn't think the same!"

Hop looked away, and Jonathan shifted again, trying to cover his angle of vision. "I know. Look. Your mother wants us to go to dinner tonight, the two of us, she wants something special to exchange our Christmas presents. And I know that if I don't do it tonight, I'm never going to do it. If her gift requires going through a posh restaurant, it must be special." His head shocked a bit worried. "Mine has to live up too!"

Jonathan couldn't believe what he was hearing. On the one hand, he was happy to hear his mother's plans. That meant that she had finally made up her mind to break the news to Hopper, but on the other hand ...

"I don't think tonight is a good time for that," The boy replied, unsure of his advice. Too many important emotions in the same night. It was definitely not a good idea! He thought.

This time it was Hopper who looked at him incredulously. "What the hell?! You and El, have been lecturing me for weeks, and now that I have decided to do it, you tell me not to?!" Angry was not an adjective to describe what he felt at that moment. He was trying very hard not to yell.

Jonathan shrugged, trying to excuse himself. "It's just that it's very rash, and it's Christmas Eve. I don't even think the store is even open."

"Nancy knows the owner. You could ask her for the favor." Hopper insisted, trying to stay calm, his hands resting on his waist. The boy was making it very difficult.

"It would be a responsibility, don't you think? Besides, Nancy will be busy with her family. It's a special day after all. Maybe the day after Christmas," _And that you had time to assimilate the bomb that is going to fall on you tonight_. The boy added in his head.

Hopper rolled his eyes, reluctantly, and headed for the bathroom door. His knuckles hit the wooden surface several times. "Nancy. Are you busy today?" He asked, staring hard at the boy, who remained paralyzed on the spot.

"No. I would be glad to help, mister Hopper." A feminine voice spoke through the door.

Jonathan froze as he was caught red-handed. Hopper did not miss the opportunity to intimidate the boy, so he put on his best bossy cop face and stormed out of the room.

"Hop, wait!" The boy ran desperately after him. "Don't tell my mother." He pleaded, scared like a child. "Please?"

The older man smirked briefly before turning to face him. He could understand him. Hell, he'd done the same thing when he was young. Too many times. But now it was his turn to make himself respected and more so when the Byers boy thought he could fool him so easily. "Maybe, if you're lucky, I can leave out what I just saw if you get me the gift for tonight."

"Yes, yes, yes. We will." Jonathan replied as fast as despairing.

Hopper nodded as his hand grabbed the boy's shoulder. "Oh… and… Don't do this again under this roof." His fingers squeezed hard. "Do you understand me?"

* * *

**10:24 a.m.**

Powell looked around while he waited. Things at Hawkins had been extremely weird in recent months, but he was hopeful that things could settle down soon. He sighed reluctantly, about to knock on the door again when it was thrown open. Oh, shit. Again the girl who hated him.

"Hello, Jane." He greeted, trying to be polite while knowing that the girl disliked him deeply. Flo didn't believe him. Wait to meet her! She's tougher than her father! He had told her.

El couldn't hide her surprise. She was waiting for Mike, and ran into the bad man that Hop insisted on saying that was not bad? Maybe that's why she hadn't thrown him into the air yet.

"You again?" She asked, annoyed, crossing her arms while frowning. Every time that man went to her house it was to take Hop to the police station. The last week had been a daily thing, to testify, they had said. Testify. She looked it up in the dictionary and still didn't understand it.

"Easy," The policeman spoke as she raised her chin defiantly. "Look. This time it will be something quick. I promise."

* * *

**11:00 a.m.**

Joyce went through the living room of the house to find the whole gang gathered around the sofa. It was early to have the home overrun by teens. Worse still, they were murmuring and fell silent as soon as they noticed her. They were up to something.

"Hi," She greeted, trying to be nice.

"Hello, Mrs. Byers." They all answered at the same time. Yes, definitively, they were hiding something from her.

"Ahm… I'm going out to go shopping for a moment. I hope you take good care of the house." She replied, going to a locker to get the car keys.

"The Car?" Jonathan asked in surprise. It was clear that she was not going for just groceries.

"Yes. I'm going to buy clothes. I won't be late."

_Clothes?_ He thought confused. His mother was not exactly a woman who attached importance to clothes. Nancy took his arm while the others made a noise. "Oh, God. Your mother is going to buy a dress for tonight!" She told, muttering excitedly.

"Shhh!" He scoffed at her in disbelief.

"Look. I'm going with her, she sure needs a good opinion to choose it. You take care of… you know, Hopper's gift."

"What?! No! We agreed that you took care of that!" Jonathan protested quietly.

Nancy almost laughed out loud. "Would you rather go choose a dress for your mother?"

Jonathan made an annoyed gesture. "Ok. You win."

The girl came out after Joyce who was practically already on the porch of the house. "Wait for me, Mrs. Byers!"

El approached Jonathan quite indignantly. "What is this all about?!" She asked angrily. "Today, they're both very strange."

"Oh come on, they've always been weird," Dustin replied laughing with Steve.

Jonathan looked at everyone while huffing. "We have a mission for today. And… probably a red code."

* * *

**11:32 a.m.**

Hopper reluctantly crossed the police station once more. Weren't they going to leave him alone even at Christmas? Powell hadn't explained much to him in the car, except that it was urgent.

Flo looked up from the papers on her table to greet him.

"Working on Christmas Eve, Flo? I thought you always take this day off." Hop observed worried.

She sighed. "Well, some last-minute paperwork has come up. Also, I was excited to see your horrible faces today."

Hopper grinned. He missed the woman's morning taunts. "Whoever makes you work today, I'm sure he's a jerk."

She smirked. "Yes. He is."

Hopper was surprised by Flo's look, it was as if she was throwing something in his face. Jeez, he had just walked through the door, he hadn't done anything yet! He thought, shooking his head before heading to the chief's office.

There was Hartman, looking much better than the last time he saw him in the hospital.

"Mister Hopper!" He greeted him enthusiastically, pointing to a chair in front of him.

Wow, what a surprise. Hopper did not conceive that this stone man could be ... happy? Maybe they should shoot him more often.

"How's the shoulder going?" He asked politely as his body dropped into the chair.

Hartman looked down at his arm, still in a sling. "This? A minor scratch."

"Sure." Hopper laughed. "I thought you hadn't been discharged from the hospital yet."

"An urgent matter has arisen that I had to resolve," Hartman explained, giving the other man a scrutinizing look.

"Yeah," Hopper nodded. Flo had said the same thing, though she hadn't specified what. "Look. I don't want to be rude, but why did you make me come today?" Hopper didn't hide his impatience.

The chief leaned back in his chair. "I'm not going to deny that these have not been good times for Hawkins, Hopper, and ... not for me either." He cleared his throat in discomfort. "But it seems that in the end, a murder has been solved, and also an internal case in Indianapolis." Hartman kept trying to regain his usual serious tone. "Thus. I wanted you to know that I have regained my position as a police captain."

Hopper raised an eyebrow. "Order has been restored, ah?" The hint of sarcasm was there, still not understanding why he had made him go there. Wanted him to congratulate him or something?

The chief's elbows dug into the table. "I think someone like you could be very useful in Indianapolis."

Hopper chuckled trying to hide both his surprise and his rejection. Hartman as his boss, Hell! No! "It's tempting. But, I'm fine like this." He ended up saying.

The policeman smiled for the second time that same morning. Fuck, he must be very happy to get out of there. Hopper thought.

"I knew you would say that, although you can't blame me for trying." Hartman dropped a folder on the table. "So, I had to argue with Flo today to prepare your report."

Ok. Now he understood why the woman had given him a look of hatred. Apparently, he was the cause of her having to be working. But what report? "I thought the whole Winston thing was... cleared up? And that I wouldn't have to testify anymore." Hopper replied opening the folder.

Hartman waited patiently as he watched Hop's face change comically.

"What does this mean?!" Hopper yelled in surprise. "And ... why does it have my signature? I haven't signed this!"

"Apparently Flo is very good at forging your signature, so she doesn't have to wait for you to do the paperwork." Hartman's voice had a hint of reproach.

"What?!" Hopper asserted, slamming the folder shut. "I thought you liked legality above all else."

"Oh, come on, it's to save time. Besides, the government has already given the go-ahead, you seem to have good contacts there." Hartman pointed out, as he opened his desk drawer. "What do you say?" The golden plate of the chief of Hawkins fell on the table. "Do you take it?"

Hop's fingers caressed the polished surface. Was it brighter than before? "I wasn't expecting this." He spoke, at last, totally sparing in words. "Thank you?"

Hartman smirked but grow serious again. "Don't thank me, even though it's Christmas, it's not a gift. I would never offer it to someone who didn't deserve it."

* * *

**12:45 a.m.**

Nancy looked at her watch for the umpteenth time. She was beginning to regret having offered to go shopping with Mrs. Byers. The woman did not decide on any dress, and there were some that the girl had even bought herself.

Joyce came out of the changing room in a green dress that fit her perfectly. "I think this was a complete mistake." The disappointment was evident on her face.

"It's beautiful." Nancy was trying in every way to cheer her up. She was sure that even if they found the perfect dress, Joyce would like none of them. Perhaps the woman thought that this was a way of postponing the inevitable, stop the train that was already moving, and go to dinner with Hopper like any other dinner.

The girl sighed. "What really worries you?"

"I need it to be perfect," Joyce said, surprised by her own words. Flirty was not a word that defined her at all.

Nancy grinned. "You're going to be very pretty tonight. Also, for the grumpy bear, even if you put a sack of potatoes on, you would be pretty."

"Do you believe it?" The woman asked indecisively. She still had in mind the day she met Diane, Hopper's ex-wife. So blonde, so tall, and so perfect. Hell, how she hated her. Joyce didn't even know why she hated the woman. After all, she was already married, and the logical thing would have been to wish Hop the best, but by then, she was already having problems with Loonie, and Hopper was going to New York with... Diane.

Nancy snapped her out of her thoughts. "For heaven's sake! Even a blind man would see how he looks at you! Believe me. He's luckier than you."

"I don't know," Joyce sat in the changing room, dejected. "I finally want to have a quiet life, and I don't know how he is going to take the baby thing. Hop has already lost his daughter and… it's complicated."

The girl put her hand on the woman's shoulder. "Everything will be fine."

Joyce nodded, looking at the green dress she was still wearing.

"This one is just perfect." Nancy encouraged her. "Besides, if we're sure of anything, it's that you're going to be prettier than the grumpy bear." They both laughed.

* * *

**6:45 p.m.**

El paced the room impatiently. How could it take so long? At last, she heard the bathroom door open, and Hopper appeared nicely dressed. The girl studied him from head to toe. She's never seen him look so elegant. Well, he wasn't in the full-dress either, but he wore a better shirt than the usual flannels, and dress pants matching his jacket.

"How do I look?" His body turning around.

"Weird." She replied, looking at him as if he had two heads. "What happened to your face?"

Hopper frowned as he touched his chin. "I've shaved." Soft as a baby. He thought, proudly.

"So weird. I don't like it." She repeated, this time laughing.

The man rolled his eyes. With encouragement like this, he could not pretend that everything would be fine! He sat on the bed and patted it. El sat next to him and handed a small red box, quite decorated.

"Joyce's gift." She offered it to him as if it were her most prized possession. "It has taken us a lot to get it. The owner had the store closed. We had to, well, improvise."

"Have you stolen it?!" Hopper couldn't believe what he was hearing. All alarms were shouting aloud.

"No. Of course not!" She replied trying to calm him down. "We have left the money on the counter. With a note, apologizing." The explanation did not seem to convince him.

"What?!" He couldn't believe his return as chief of police was going to start with placating an angry salesman.

Eleven shrugged. "It was an idea from Dustin and Steve." Yeah, that sounds even worse. "Nancy has already called the owner to, well, make him believe that the door was left open and that it was an emergency." She looked at him with a puppy-dog face. "It's a long story."

"Surely it is." Hopper sighed as he stroked the small box.

"Nervous?" Her eyes didn't take off him. She had only seen Hop this lost once, and that was when they started living together in the cabin. Of course, back then, she was just as lost as him.

"Much." He confessed.

She took his hand. "The boys have told me to wish you luck."

"Oh. How considerate…" The hint of sarcasm was evident so she grinned.

"Good Luck." Her hand squeezed his, gently.

**To be continued.**


End file.
